


Seasons Change

by knittycat99



Series: Seasons Change Verse [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Friendship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-12
Updated: 2011-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:32:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 71,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knittycat99/pseuds/knittycat99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picks up after the events of Watch Me Fly; there's coffee and coming out and college. And maybe an Epic Romance, if the boys can ever get their act together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. These Broken Wings

Kurt woke to odd slants of sunlight through his bedroom window, and to an otherwise empty bed. Dave was gone, and judging from the angle of the shadows on his blankets, he was nothing but wicked late for school. He dressed hurriedly and dashed down the stairs, only to pull up short at the sight of his dad sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee in front of him. He looked up at Kurt's entrance.

"Prom queen." His voice was flat, but tinged with a harsh edge of sarcasm.

"Did Blaine-" Kurt's heart fell into his stomach.

"No. It was Figgins' secretary, when I called you in sick this morning. She thought I was calling for a meeting."

"Oh."

"Why didn't you tell me, Kurt?"

"I didn't know what to say. I was embarrassed, and angry, and _hurt_. And I didn't want you to think it was a mistake to let me transfer back. And . . ."

"What?"

"I didn't want you to be right. About the whole kilt thing, and giving people a reason to hate me."

Kurt watched as his dad pushed his chair back and stood, crossing the kitchen in three long strides to hug him.

"I just want you to be safe. To feel worthwhile. And those kids at that school hurt you so much, I just don't want to see you get lost there."

"I'm found there." Kurt let his reply get muffled in the soft shoulder of his dad's blue work shirt.

"So what do we do now?" His dad let go and turned back to the table, pulling out a chair for Kurt before settling back into his own. "Do you want me to talk to Figgins?"

"No."

"No? You were humiliated in front of your entire class."

"And I stood up and wore that stupid crown, and I danced with my boyfriend, and I showed them that they can't break me. I'm more than their stupid practical joke. I'm _better_ than that. If you go in to that school to fight for me, it will take away everything I did the other night."

"Okay."

" _Okay_? Who are you and what did you do with my crazed father?"

"I saw you with David last night. Sleeping."

 _Crap_. "Oh."

"What's his story, anyway? I thought you hated him."

"It's complicated." How to explain to his dad without telling someone else's secrets? "He's become something of a . . . friend, I suppose, the past few weeks. He's having a hard time with . . . some things. Apparently I'm a good listener." Kurt rolled his eyes on purpose in an attempt to lighten the situation, but he could see that his dad wasn't buying it.

"His dad called here last night looking for him."

"Ah. What did he say?"

"That David came out to him. And then ran off. And clearly came here."

Kurt's voice was lost, so he just nodded.

"How long have you known?"

There it was. His chance to let all of it go, all the fear and anger and awful heartache from last fall. But it wasn't only his story to tell, so he took a deep breath and said the first thing that came to him. "I didn't, not for sure, until I got back to McKinley." And in some ways, that was the truth. Because Dave _could_ have been confused back then, and between the kiss and the day he left for Dalton the only contact they'd had was Dave's hand or arm or shoulder pushing Kurt into hard metal.

"And you're helping him?"

Kurt nodded. "I'm trying to. He's not. Um. He's not the same kid he was in the fall."

"Neither are you, Kurt."

Kurt looked down at his hands. There were times when he wished that his dad couldn't see him. He was so used to hiding himself when he was out in the world that he sometimes forgot he could never hide from his dad. He'd never been able to. None of his masks worked in this house. He kept his head down, but listened as his dad kept talking.

"I know you weren't happy at Dalton, but the time away changed you. I always knew you were strong, but I think the difference is that now _you_ know it too. I'm proud of you, Kurt."

Kurt blinked back tears. "Thanks, Dad."

"Since I got you the day off from school, how about working with me today? I could use the help."

Kurt smiled in spite of himself. He'd lie to anyone who asked, but he _loved_ working with his dad. "I'd like that a lot."

* * *

Dave stood at his back door, breathless and jittery. Again. He'd felt better when he woke up, warm and safe in Kurt's arms. In his bed. In a totally platonic kind of way. It had been the best sleep he'd had in close to a year. But the effects weren't lingering. There was a ball of nerves in his stomach. He felt (again) like he was going to be sick. But he didn't have a choice. He had to go in and face the music. Face his father. He took the deepest breath he could manage, and turned the knob.

His dad was sitting at the kitchen table, gaze lowered over the morning paper and an untouched plate of toast next to him. He lifted his head at the motion of the door, at Dave's push into the room. It was now or never. He'd rather never, but he couldn't swallow back last night's confession.

"Dad-"

"David." His dad's eyes were a cautious mix of concerned and stern.

"I'm sorry I ran off. And that I didn't call. I just . . ."

"I was worried. I called all your friends."

"I wasn't-"

"I know. I took a guess. I called Burt Hummel. Did Kurt know before last night?"

"Yes."

"When? When did you tell him?"

"I didn't." Not a lie. Not really a lie. Kissing wasn't telling. "He's been trying to help me."

"Help you with what?"

With his anger, his self-hatred, his pain. With the awful, suffocating feeling in his chest. "With whether to tell people. What to say. How to do it."

"Did he pressure you to do it?"

" _What_? No! I mean, he thought I should, but he's not like that!" Dave could feel anger crawling up his spine, unjustified _rage_ that anyone would think that Kurt would do something like that. He curled his hands around the back of the chair he was leaning against, worked to calm himself.

"David?" His father's voice was soft. "Do you . . . are you . . . is there something going on with you and Kurt?"

"Oh. No. He's a friend. Now, he's a friend. He's a good guy." Dave swallowed around the words he couldn't say: _he's the only person I trust anymore_. Saying that would be saying too much, showing his hand in a way that would leave him nothing.

"Why did you tell me last night?"

"Something happened at Prom." The words were out before he could stop himself. He finally pulled the chair out and sat, toyed absently with the edge of the tablecloth while his dad slid the plate of toast across to him. He shook his head before continuing.

"I'm sure it's going to be all over town. The _idiots_ at school wrote Kurt in for Prom Queen. And he won."

"And you were king." His dad had been proud to see his crown, but hadn't asked about the night beyond that when Dave had finally managed to get home well after midnight. It had been the perfect encapsulated moment of their relationship for the past year: brief, stilted and meaningless conversation in passing, nothing too hard or too emotional. Dave wasn't sure when things had changed, but he knew that it was mostly his fault. Closing his father out, his father who loved him and knew him better than he knew himself, had been his response to the threat of discovery. It had hurt.

"We were supposed to dance. And I couldn't." He turned away and swallowed back tears before turning back to his dad and continuing. "I wanted to, Dad. I _wanted_ to. It would have been so easy. Then I wouldn't have had to tell anybody. But I couldn't do it."

"You shouldn't have had to. Figgins shouldn't have done that to you."

Dave shook his head, let out a harsh breath. "You don't get it, Dad. Nobody did anything to me. They did it to _Kurt_. The kids, Figgins. _Me_ , in the fall. We all did that to Kurt. _He's_ the one who gets hurt all the time, and he's so strong. He just keeps going." _I'm not strong like that_. "I couldn't breathe. I couldn't be in my head anymore." _I couldn't stand the echo of my thoughts, the loud tick of my heart._ "I had to tell you. I couldn't wait anymore." _Couldn't wait. Had to tell before my disconnected limbs touched cold metal to delicate skin, just a little sting of physical pain to cut the heavy haze of being buried under emotions I can't name._

He was fumbling with the sleeves on his sweatshirt again, and he was beyond shocked when his dad reached across and pressed his hands over Dave's, much the way that Kurt had the night before. This felt different, like a tentative thread of connection between him and his dad. The connection was weak, but it was there. It was better than nothing.

"I'm glad you did. Say something. I was surprised, but I'll get used to it. David." His father's voice turned stern, and Dave looked up to see unmasked love in his dad's eyes. "You're my son. I love you. I need you to know that. This doesn't change anything. _You_ don't need to change anything. Any trouble I have with this, it's _my_ stuff to work on, okay?"

"Okay."

"I called you in sick today, but I have to go to work. Will you be all right at home by yourself?"

Dave scrubbed a hand over his face. "I need to sleep. I'll be fine."

"Good."

Dave pushed his chair away from the table, moved to head up to his room, to the comfort of a shower and a dvd and, hopefully, blissful sleep. He was intercepted by his dad, who grabbed him in a very brief hug and whispered _I love you_ into his ear before he gathered his briefcase and headed out to the car. Dave rounded the corner and sagged against the stairs in relief; he didn't see his dad, back against the door, crying awkward tears into the sleeve of his suit jacket in the cool spring morning.


	2. Boys of Summer

School let out three days after they got back from Nationals, and Kurt's summer was stretched out in front of him, two and a half months of working for his dad and thinking about college and missing Blaine, who was off to Cincinnati and Six Flags for the duration. Kurt figured he'd be able to get out there maybe twice for a weekend each time, if his dad would let him. If not, he supposed they would just have to Skype and text, and try not to go over the minutes on their respective calling plans. He made plans to hang out with the other kids from Glee on Saturday nights, but by the end of June those standing dates were pretty much shot to hell by 13 different sets of jobs and family expectations. Even at home, Kurt only really saw Finn in passing as he divided his time between summer workouts with the football team, dates with Rachel, and his job at the rec center.

Then it got hot. Not that it was anything new; it was always hot in Western Ohio in July, but something about it seemed oppressive this year. The house wasn't air conditioned, so when Kurt wasn't at the garage he started taking his laptop to the library to mooch off the free wifi and watch movies off his Netflix queue or download music. He also read a lot of books. The Lima Public Library didn't have a great selection of the kinds of books he was craving, fluffy things about gay men in big cities having grand romances. He supposed it was silly, to read things like that. But it gave him hope for what his life might be like once he graduated and moved away. And he was thankful that he could search on Amazon and bring a list to the librarian, who never blinked as she submitted interlibrary loan requests to the tune of five or six a week for the books Kurt wanted that none of the other libraries in Allen County had in their collections; the books came from all over the Midwest, and Kurt read them like they were candy. He was just leaving the library one Tuesday evening, messenger bag slung across his chest and a new stack of books cradled in his arms when he literally ran into Dave Karofsky while trying to pull his keys out of his shorts pocket. Dave shuffled awkwardly before kneeling down to help Kurt gather his books. Kurt hadn't seen him since school had gotten out. When all the books were stacked up in his arms again, he took a good long look at Dave, and his face went soft. Dave looked like hell.

"How are you?"

"Been better." Dave was mumbling, and looking at his feet.

"What's going on?"

"Just . . . well. Shit with my dad. With the team."

"Did you walk?"

"Yeah. I have a couple of things to pick up."

"Look, I can wait if you want. We could go for a coffee. Or ice cream or something. If you want to talk. If not, I could just give you a ride. It's really too hot to walk." Kurt waited for rejection, was prepared for it actually. But he was surprised when Dave looked at him and offered up a strained smile.

"I'd like that. The coffee, I think. And the ride. Thanks."

"No problem." Kurt angled his head towards his Navigator. "I'll be over there."

When Dave opened the door to climb up into the car, he slid his stack of library books in first. Kurt spied the telltale paper wrappers of interlibrary loans, and took note that the pile was about as big as his own.

"Reading a lot this summer?" Kurt joked.

"Yeah."

"Anything good?"

"Just . . ." Kurt half-smiled as Dave blushed, so he turned and grabbed the first book off his stack in the backseat and held it out for Dave's inspection.

"I seem to have developed a taste for gay man meets Mr. Right romances. If you tell anyone, I'll have to hurt you."

Dave laughed at that, and offered up one of his own books, a teen title Kurt recognized from his own junior high searches for books about kids like him. He nodded at Dave and offered "That's a good one. If you want, you can poke through my library. I have a fairly extensive collection."

"That would be . . . nice. Thank you, Kurt."

"No problem. How about that coffee?"

The Lima Bean was nearly empty in the pre-dinner hour. Dave thought that was a good thing. It wasn't that he didn't want people to see him with Kurt, he just thought that the fewer people around to overhear their conversation, the better. He sat at an almost-hidden corner table while Kurt ordered, and took a long sip of his iced vanilla latté before meeting Kurt's pointed gaze.

"What? So I like vanilla lattés."

"I didn't say anything. What's going on?"

Best just to put it out there. "I'm thinking of quitting the team."

"Why? You love football."

"No, I don't. Football is okay. I like being part of the team. I like it because it gives me something to share with my dad. But I don't love it. And I kind of want to see if I can be more than just a football player." And a jackass, he thought silently, but didn't add that.

"You could get a scholarship, though. Get out of Lima."

"I'm not good enough. Even with Coach Beiste, I'm still not good enough. But if I don't do football this year, if I focus on school and find something else to do . . ."

"Maybe you really can get out of here?"

"Yeah."

"And your dad? How is that going?"

"We talk around it a lot. I'm not sorry I told him, but it's been hard for him. I think . . ." Dave thinks about the hushed phone calls he hears in the mornings or at night when his dad clearly thinks that he is asleep or busy or something. "I think maybe he's talking to your dad about it, though." Dave catches a flicker of sudden recognition as it flashes across Kurt's face.

"I think you might be right. And I think that's a good thing for both of them."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I know it hasn't been easy for my dad, but he's learned a lot about me, and about himself, and about this town in the past few years. If he can help your dad, and if it gives my dad someone to talk to as well, I think it's great."

They each fall silent then, and sip at their drinks. Dave finds his voice first, so he asks "What are you doing for the summer?"

"Ah. Well. Blaine is off in Cincinnati, so I'm working for my dad and trying to decide where to apply to college, and spending lots of hours at the library."

"And reading gay romances."

"And reading gay romances. What about you?"

"Practice, at least until I decide to quit the team. I have a part time job at the Safeway as a checker, which is okay."

"And you're reading gay romances." Kurt smiles at him.

"Yes."

"What about your friends?"

"They're not my friends."

"Azimio and them?"

"They're football friends. Not real friends." Dave thinks around his thoughts, hates how easy it's become to talk with Kurt. He curses the fact that he seems to have lost his filter before he admits "I don't really have friends."

Kurt is clearly surprised by this. "Oh." His voice is soft again, but not out of pity. When he looks at Dave, his eyes are wide and sad. "I know what that feels like."

"Bullshit. You have all the Glee kids."

"I have my Glee family. I have a step-brother and a boyfriend. But I have very few real friends. At least not the kinds of friends who absolutely accept everything about me."

"But they know about you and they still like you."

"They know about me and they tolerate me." Dave can hear the barest hint of bitterness under Kurt's words. "I can be a bitch and a drama queen with the best of them. I can be the life of the party. But none of it is fucking real."

And that is something that Dave understands all too well. He looks down, fiddles with his straw, with the sugar packets in a bowl on the table, with the hem of his t-shirt. When he lets go of his heart, he does it so softly that Kurt actually leans across the table to hear him.

"I'm not real either. I have no idea who I even am anymore."

Which is how anyone at the Lima Bean that Tuesday night would have found Kurt Hummel and Dave Karofsky: sitting across a corner table from each other, pretending that neither of them was crying.

**

After that, Kurt makes it a point to have a standing appointment for coffee with Dave every Tuesday. They meet at the library after they both get off work, and then go over to the Lima Bean where they drink coffee and talk about the books they've read since their last meeting and the music they're listening to, the crazy customers Dave has to deal with at the Safeway ("seriously, there's this couple who come in on Sunday mornings and they buy two cartons of cigarettes that they pay for entirely in crumpled ones and quarters and dimes"), and the interesting things Kurt finds when he vacuums customers cars after doing an oil change ("I've come to expect the odd earring, or tube of lipstick, or nasty sippy cups if it's a station wagon with child seats, but sometimes . . ."). At their third meeting, Kurt spies Dave surreptitiously eyeing a chess set tucked between Scrabble and Pictionary on the game shelf.

"Do you play?"

Dave nods at him hesitantly. "I haven't in years. You?"

"My dad taught me when I was little, but also not in years. Do you want to?"

Dave shrugs, but moves from his chair over to the shelf and wrestles the box down. They set it up, realize the set is missing a couple of pieces, and decide to do the best they can with what they have. It turns out to be fun; neither of them is really any good, but it helps to buffer the hard parts of their conversation.

If anyone had told Kurt back in June that he'd be spending his Tuesdays spilling his deepest secrets to Dave Karofsky, he would have laughed in their face. But he finds more and more that he really looks forward to these stolen hours. More importantly, he's finding that he needs them. Because Dave Karofsky has no stake in Kurt's dreams or decisions, so he's the one Kurt talks to about his college hopes and the fact that he's either brave or crazy by loading up on AP classes in order to impress the hell out of the Admissions people at a half-dozen East Coast schools. When they're done with their makeshift chess game, Kurt reaches into his bag and pulls out the view books, which he fans across the table in front of Dave. He taps each one in turn. "NYU, Williams, Wesleyan, Brown, George Washington, and Yale." Dave's eyes go wide, and Kurt laughs. "It's my freaking longest of all possible long shots. Please. I'm never going to get in."

"What do you want to study?"

"I think everyone assumes I'm going to do fashion or music or theater or something."

"But what do you want to do?"

"English Lit and some kind of language." At Dave's sideways glance, Kurt continues. "It's like music. Reading, writing, learning a new language. It makes me feel the same way that singing does. Happy."

"Cool."

"Yeah. Your turn. Have you thought at all about where you're going to apply?"

"Not yet. Ohio State, of course. Maybe Indiana. I'm not as smart as you are."

"Says Mr. College Math."

"It's just community college."

"But you're still going to get credit for it. And AP Physics, right?"

"Yeah."

Okay. So. You like math and science. If you could pick one place to live, your ultimate dream home, where would it be?"

Kurt is almost surprised with the swiftness of Dave's response; he doesn't even blink before blurting out "San Francisco."

There aren't many times when Dave feels like he wants to take back things he says when he's with Kurt, but this is one of them. Especially after Kurt looks at him and says "That's pretty cliché."

Dave's subtle humor kicks in, and he finds his comeback tumbling off his tongue before he even has to think about it. "Like New York isn't?"

"Point. So. Why San Fran?"

Dave wants to make something up, talk about the bay or the bridge, but he is discovering that he can't lie to Kurt. "Have you read 'Tales of the City'?"

"No."

"Okay. You can borrow mine. Anyway, when I was first questioning, last year, I tried finding books about it."

"It's not easy."

"No, it's not. And I was worried that people would find out, so I picked the safest thing I could find. The books have straight characters in them, too, and they're weird and wacky and so funny I laughed through all of them. And I kind of fell in love with San Francisco. So. If I could go anywhere, it would be there." He looks away, and finishes the thought as he stares out at the parking lot. "I could be anyone I want to, there."

"So do it." God, Kurt made it sound so easy.

"It's not that easy."

"Sure it is. All you have to is pick some schools and apply. Even if you get in, it doesn't mean you have to go."

Dave can feel irritation beginning to creep under his skin, because it's clear that Kurt really doesn't get it. He grinds out his next words, can feel the fire that they burn in his throat. "If I get in and can't go, it would be like losing the dream twice. Guys like me don't dream like you do."

"Who says you can't?"

"Everyone. All the people in this damn town, the teachers, the other kids. Even my dad. There's no model for what I want. How do I even know where to start looking for it?"

"Why do you think I read all those silly romances?"

"I don't-"

"Dave." Kurt's voice is strong across the table. "I'm trying to make my own model, my own dream."

"You make it look effortless." He's surprised at the harshness of Kurt's laugh.

"Trust me. It's anything but effortless. It's scary and I just have to hope that I'm making the right decisions. But maybe . . ."

Oh. Dave can tell that this isn't going to be good. He can see the idea percolating behind Kurt's show-everything eyes. He's about to nip the whole thing in the bud when Kurt squeaks out "Let's do it together."

"Excuse me?"

"Follow our dreams." His finger drifts to the Yale catalog and pushes it forward. "It's my reach, but it's my dream. Yours is San Francisco. Let's do it. We'll be each other's model."

Dave runs his eyes over the cover of the catalog, and oddly enough he can imagine Kurt there. Just like he can almost see himself haunting hidden corners of a magical city. He smiles reluctantly, and takes a deep breath before committing.

"Okay." He tells Kurt, all the while wondering what he's gotten himself into.

**

On the first Monday of August, the first day of preseason, Dave finally decides to quit the football team. He can tell that Coach Beiste must have been expecting something, because she ushers him into her office and shuts the door without a word. Only after he's settled into the hard plastic chair opposite her desk does he stammer out his confession.

"Coach, I won't be playing football this year."

Her face gives nothing away; instead, he watches her looking at him over her steepled hands. "Can I ask you why?"

"I just. I think." He takes a deep breath and tries again. He's written this speech twenty times in his head, has it all planned out. He wants to tell her something about focusing on school and maybe seeing if he fits somewhere besides field and locker room, but all of that is gone and what he says instead is "Coach, I'm gay." He feels the words in his stomach before he hears them echoing in his ears, and he can't believe he actually said it. He watches as Coach sits back in her chair and nods her head.

"Thank you for trusting me with that, David. But you don't need to leave the team because of it."

"No. No. That's not why. I just. I'm going to be a senior. All I've ever been at this school is a dumb jock, and a bully. I'm more than that, and I need to prove it."

"You're not dumb, I've seen your grade reports, remember? And you don't need to prove it to me."

"I have to prove it to myself, Coach. And I can't do that if the only crowd I'm a part of this year is the only crowd I've ever been a part of." Now that he's talking, he can't turn off his brain. "Football isn't going to get me out of this town. Don't get me wrong, it's given me lots of things, but I need to find other things that I love. I need to . . ." He can feel the words piling up, and he struggles to form a coherent sentence before they just tumble out willy-nilly. "I need to figure out who I am before I can go anywhere. And I need to quit the team to do that."

He squirms in his chair while he waits for Coach to say something, anything. Finally, she clears her throat and asks "Do you have college plans?"

"I'm, um, applying to some places."

"I would be honored to write you a recommendation if you want. You're a good player, David. And I'm really happy that you're getting things together. If you ever need anything, you can always come to me. Even though I'm not your coach anymore. Okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Coach."

She stands up, comes out from around her desk, and grabs him in a fierce hug. "Now, get your behind out of here. I have newbies to torture."

Dave isn't prepared at all for the lightness he feels in his chest as he walks out into the early morning sunshine. He feels free and happy, and he can't wait to tell Kurt.

**

Kurt and his dad are working together on a tire rotation and alignment, are almost done in fact, when Tony calls into the garage from the office. "Kurt! Someone here to see you!" Kurt looks up at his dad and shrugs his shoulders before wiping his grease-covered hands on a shop towel and heading to the front. When he sees Dave, he turns back to his dad and says "I might need a few minutes."

"Go ahead. I'll finish up here. Take 15."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Yeah."

He starts talking before he even gets the office door completely open. This is . . . well. To call it unprecedented wouldn't be going too far. In the weeks since they started meeting, they have never strayed beyond the careful boundaries of library, Lima Bean, coffee and chess. The first thing that pops into Kurt's mind is that something is terribly wrong, but then he sees the broad smile snaking its way across Dave's face. It's a sight Kurt hasn't glimpsed too often, and it makes him smile in response.

"I thought something was wrong," he tells Dave as he crosses into the office and shuts out the noise of the garage. He watches curiously as Dave takes in his coverall, the black bandana covering his hair, the grease on his hands.

"You're different." Dave blurts out what was clearly the first thing to pop into his head.

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, you're always confident, but you move differently here. Like you're actually relaxed."

Kurt leans against the door, and thinks before he speaks. "It's different. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow. I can't be long, have to get back." He nods his head towards the garage, where he can see his dad pretending to work while he keeps a watchful eye on the situation. Kurt hasn't mentioned their Tuesday routine, and he knows Dave hasn't, either.

"That's fine. I just. Um." Dave shifts his weight from foot to foot, and Kurt thinks that he really has to get his fidgeting under control.

"Speak, Dave."

Dave laughs at him then, actually laughs, and pours out "I quit the team. And I told Coach. You know. Told her."

"And?"

"And she didn't seem surprised. Told me that wasn't a reason to quit the team, even though that wasn't why. I told her that, too, and she said that she'd write me a college recommendation if I wanted." His cheeks turn pink before he adds "She hugged me."

"Congratulations, Dave. I'm proud of you. You seem happy."

"I am. God. I forgot what this feels like."

"Enjoy it."

"I will. Go back to work."

"You sure? Because I could probably get off early, if you want to hang out." Kurt isn't sure where the offer comes from, isn't sure what he and Dave would even do outside of their planned outings. But it doesn't feel awkward to offer, and Kurt supposes that's a good thing.

"No. I have work later. But I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Same time, same place."

"Good. Because I have some books for you. And some things to show you."

"Good." Kurt turns to head back into the garage, even gets the door half-opened, but he halts when Dave whispers his name. When he looks back, Dave's face is serious and soft. He doesn't say anything, just waits. Finally, Dave manages "Thank you. For. Well. You know. Everything."

Kurt's own reply is just as soft. "You're welcome."

Only later, after an oil change and a fan belt and a silent lunch in his dad's office does his dad clear his throat and ask "What was that about, this morning?"

"Dave just needed to talk for a minute."

"I didn't realize the two of you were . . ."

"Friends, Dad. I think by now I can call him that."

"Do you do that? Talk with him a lot?"

Kurt takes a deep breath, figures there's nothing to hide, and says "We get together on Tuesdays. Have coffee. Play chess. It's something to do." He doesn't add since everyone else is so busy and I feel like Blaine is disappearing. "He's a good guy."

His dad shakes his head, clears his throat again. "I'll never understand how the kid who threatened to kill you, who slammed you into lockers and threw slushies in your face turns out to be a good guy. But I suppose, as long as you're safe, it's none of my business."

That's the closest his dad is going to get to being okay with him hanging out with Dave, so he smiles and takes it. But he can't help thinking that it's really nobody's business.

**

Tuesday afternoon, Dave sits across from Kurt and reaches into his backpack. "What I promised I'd show you," he says, and laughs as Kurt rubs his hands together in excitement.

Like Kurt did two weeks ago, Dave fans the viewbooks out on the table. "San Francisco State, University of San Francisco, University of California San Francisco, and Berkeley. It's my reach. But I can't not apply."

"What about Ohio State?"

Dave bites at the inside of his lower lip. The thought has been keeping him up at night. It's the expected thing to do, apply like everyone else. He knows from Miss Pillsbury that he'd have no trouble getting one of the scholarships they give to in-state kids with good grades. But then he'd be settling. He's decided to take that out of the equation.

"I'm not going to apply." Kurt's eyes go wide at his admission, but then a gentle hint of a smile turns up the corners of his mouth.

"Wow. I'm kind of . . . surprised."

"Yeah. Me, too. But I think, if I apply and get in, I'll feel obligated. So I'm going big. San Francisco or bust."

"How does it feel?"

Dave blows a half-breath out from between his lips. "Exhilarating. Exciting. Terrifying."

"And?"

Dave thinks for a moment. He knows what else it feels like. It's the feeling he was looking for on that dance floor on Prom night, the feeling he had when he came out to his dad. Yesterday when he quit the team. Every Tuesday when he shares his secrets with Kurt. "It's liberating," he finally says. "It's like I'm just letting go of every expectation that everyone else has for me. I never realized."

"Realized what?" Kurt's voice is hesitant, almost shy.

"How suffocating it is, letting everyone else tell you who you are and what you want. It's almost as bad as being in the closet."

"Yeah."

Kurt goes quiet then, and Dave isn't sure what prompts him to do it, but he reaches across the table and puts his hand on Kurt's forearm before asking "Do you want to talk?"

Dave's hand is cool, and slightly damp from the icy condensation on the outside of his cup. Kurt doesn't move away. Instead, he angles his body slightly away and stares out into the parking lot. He wants to talk. He's spent so much of this summer listening to Dave, telling him the safe things. But he's feeling lonely and alone in that way he hates, so he turns back to Dave and says "Can we go someplace else? Please?"

Dave looks surprised, but he removes his hand and gathers his viewbooks, takes a last sip of his coffee before nodding. "Of course. I take it you have someplace in mind?"

"Yeah." Kurt does. It's someplace he's always wanted to take Blaine, but they haven't seen each other in close to eight weeks and the calls and texts are getting shorter and less frequent. It feels sometimes like his relationship is spinning off in its own orbit and he can't do anything to control it.

He drives out to the edge of town, to this kind of overlook with an absolutely stunning view of the southern hills. It's his secret, a spot he discovered in the heady days after he got his driver's license. He doesn't tell Dave that this is where he used to come last fall to cry and rage over the hell of being tortured at school. That is over and done now. But it's still a safe place. He pulls into the small parking area and motions for Dave to follow him. They both scamper up the slight rise of the hill and Kurt can hear Dave gasp behind him at the view.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, and Kurt is grateful that Dave just gives him time to collect his thoughts. He knows that when he finally starts talking, he's not going to be able to stop.

"I think my relationship is over." He's been thinking it for a few weeks, but hasn't said anything. Not even to Blaine.

"With Blaine?"

"Yeah."

"What's wrong?"

"He's gone. He's in Cincinnati, and he's busy. And I'm here."

"He'll be back in two weeks."

"I don't think that matters. He doesn't. Um. He doesn't see me. Nobody does. They see parts of me, the parts they want to believe are all of me. I'm not just brave or strong. Smart or talented. The kid whose mom died. The gay kid."

"You're all of those things. And more." He can't look at Dave. He has to finish this, and if he looks at Dave he's going to lose it.

"Thank you. But Blaine only sees Perfect Kurt. He never sees the hurt or the pain."

"Or the sadness."

"Yeah." Dave is nothing but surprises today. Kurt briefly wonders what happened to hide this kind and insightful Dave from the world, but he knows before the thought is fully formed. It's the same thing that makes him hide all of the things he loves about himself behind icy stares and outrageous clothes. Kurt gathers himself and finishes. "I hurt. Every day. Because . . ." He reaches out and takes a gamble, twines his fingers around Dave's. "Because I'm suffocating, the same as you. And I don't want to do it anymore."  
"So don't."

"I don't follow."

"To hell with them. All of them. You challenged me to chase my dream. So now I'm going to challenge you. Well. Both of us, really."

"I think I should be vaguely afraid." And there he goes again, deflecting hurt with humor.

"We have one year left. One year to be nothing but our true selves. It's going to be hard, and it's going to be scary. But think about how good it will feel."

"How what will feel?"

"No more hiding."

Oh. "No more hiding?"

"Yeah. If we want people to see who we really are, we have to show them. We have to be honest."

"It's not that easy."

"I know. So we start small. What's your biggest defense mechanism?"

Kurt rolls this thought over, thinks about the first time he walked into school acting like he was better than the other kids. He'd gotten a new jacket for his birthday, and it made him feel safe, like he was wearing armor. "My clothes."

"Okay. So. If you could wear anything on the first day of school, what would it be?"

The answer is out of his mouth before his heart beats. "Worn jeans. Tight black t-shirt. Black Docs. Sunglasses." It's his kind-of fantasy, über-sexy in a simple way. What he imagines wearing out to a club in Boston or New York.

"So do it. Wear that the first day of school."

Kurt nods, takes the bait. "And what are you going to do?"

Dave squeezes his hand, and Kurt can feel him trembling. When he finally speaks, his voice is shaking too.

"Me? Oh. You know. Go big or go home. I'm going to come out."

The implications of that statement are huge, and Kurt isn't sure if Dave realizes it. He doesn't say anything, though, just keeps his hand tucked into Dave's as they watch the sun drift towards the horizon.

**

After, they start hanging out whenever they both have a free moment. Dave can feel it, the way they feed off each other's bursts of courage. The way that they have become not only each other's models but also each other's mirrors. There are stolen moments, sometimes, when Dave wonders if the tender spark of brightness that catches but never flares between them could become something more. But he never pursues it because really, having Kurt as a genuine friend is a thousand times better than taking the chance and having it blow up. Dave can handle a little bit of "what if", because he also knows that he's nowhere near ready to be anyone's boyfriend yet. So he swallows around the want that creeps up from time to time and takes the friendship that Kurt is offering.

The last week before school starts, Kurt bails on Tuesday coffee to drive out to Westerville to see Blaine. "I have to know," he tells Dave, and Dave can't tell if Kurt's voice is crackly from a bad cell signal or from nerves and tears. He figures they'll catch up the next day, and he goes home to work on his essay for San Francisco State, because his dad is working late and the house will be quiet. What he doesn't expect is a call from Burt Hummel at 8 pm.

"Mr. Hummel."

"David. Have you heard from Kurt today?"

"Earlier. He said he was going-"

"To see Blaine, I know. But he hasn't called, and he isn't home, and Blaine called here to check on Kurt, said he left Westerville hours ago. He's not answering his cell."

Dave's already up, jamming his feet into his untied sneakers and grabbing his keys. "Give me half an hour. I know where he is. I'll call you when I get there."

He can feel the tension crackling over the open line. "Okay." Dave knows Mr. Hummel is fighting to stay in control; Kurt's told him how protective his dad is, but Dave didn't need to be told. He'd seen it in hallways and Figgins' office, and in the cautious way Mr. Hummel looks at him whenever he and Kurt are at the Hudson-Hummel house together. Dave takes a breath and knows exactly the right thing to say. "Let me go get him. And then I'll bring him home. If today went like I think it did, I think he's going to need you."

When he finally replies, Mr. Hummel's voice is barely a whisper. "Thank you, David."

Kurt is right where Dave expected, curled into himself on the damp grass at the overlook. He doesn't look as devastated at Dave had expected, just worn and sad and alone. Dave kneels down behind him, drops a hand to Kurt's shoulder.

"Your dad is really worried."

"I just couldn't-"

"I know. Are you okay?"

"Actually, yes." The face that he turns to Dave is ghostly pale in the darkness, but his eyes are clear. "Blaine met someone in Cincinnati. He just didn't know how to tell me."

"Shit, Kurt. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You know," his laugh is bitter, "I think Blaine liked the idea of rescuing me. I was, after all, in a pretty bad spot when we met. But I don't need rescuing now. I guess the novelty wore off."

Dave's voice is heavy with honesty. "You're better than that. You deserve more than that, someone better than him."

"Thank you."

"Now, c'mon. I promised your dad I'd get you home safe. I don't want to give him any more reason to hate me." Dave stands, offers Kurt a hand, and pulls him to his feet.

"He doesn't hate you."

Dave is halfway back to his Jeep when Kurt's footsteps close the distance between them. He's half-surprised at Kurt's arm grabbing his waist. They have self-imposed very strong physical boundaries to their friendship, so this move in decidedly unexpected but not entirely unwelcome. Kurt kind-of leans into him, and Dave wraps his own arm around Kurt's shoulder. "Thank you," Kurt whispers.

"No prob. That's what friends are for, right?"

"Yeah."

**

Kurt gets up early on the first day of school. He dresses the way he's planned, the way he told Dave he would. He's out of the house early, too, to meet Dave at the Lima Bean before heading off to school. He thinks about the shirt, washed and folded neatly in his messenger bag. He can't believe Dave is actually going to do this.

Kurt gets there first, orders his own iced mocha and cranberry orange muffin, and then adds Dave's latté and a blueberry muffin and pays for it all. He figures it's the least he can do, buy the guy a last breakfast before his world ends. When Dave finally comes up behind him as he's waiting for their drinks, Kurt can feel the tension rising off his body. His voice is almost a growl.

"Do you have it?"

Kurt pulls the t-shirt out of his bag, and Dave practically runs to the men's room. When he comes back out, Kurt can see the collar peeking out from under Dave's hoodie. It's a good plan, actually, because it lets Dave control things. Dave runs his eyes up and down, taking in Kurt's jeans and shirt, boots, the thick leather belt he added at the last minute, and the slightly spiky mess of his hair.

"Dude. Very nice."

"Stop cruising me, Dave." Kurt laughs around the straw in his mocha, both surprised and pleased at how secure Dave has grown in himself over the course of the summer. "If you keep looking at me like that, you won't need my shirt to tell anybody anything."

He catches the barest hint of the blush creeping its way across Dave's cheeks, but pretends that he doesn't.

They linger as long as they can, and then Kurt follows Dave to school. They park in adjacent spots in the senior lot, and Kurt fights the urge to grab Dave's hand and squeeze it. He knows how hard this day is going to be for Dave, and he knows he'll be there for Dave after school. But the rest of it, the scary and hard part, that's Dave's to do alone. They walk, side by side, to the front entrance. Just before Kurt peels off to find the Glee kids he casually jostles Dave with his shoulder. He catches the way that Dave pushes back, grabbing the casual contact like a safety net, a last breath of air, a lifeline. Kurt looks him square in the eyes. His voice is strong. "Courage," he tells Dave in the instant before the doors open and Dave is swallowed by a crowd. That's when he hears a shriek and then Mercedes is on him, praising his shirt and his hair and wondering "what's up with the new look?"

Kurt slips his sunglasses down over his eyes, and smiles half to himself.

"It was an interesting summer."


	3. I'd Rather Hurt

Dave initially thinks about waiting until lunch to make the big reveal, but then he fidgets all the way through Homeroom, so he decides that he needs to do it sooner rather than later. When the bell rings, when he has his schedule folded and tucked in his back pocket (away from the prying eyes who would be startled to see that in addition to his community college statistics class, Dave is also taking Honors level English, History, and Spanish, and AP Physics. And an addition he'd made last week that he hadn't even told Kurt about: Glee), he heads to his locker. Unzips his hoodie, shrugs it off and hangs it up. And turns to the crowded halls of McKinley High, his biggest secret stretched in black block letters across his chest for all to see: _Likes Boys_. He takes a deep breath and forges forward.

After English, Azimio corners him in a stairwell, face twisted with rage.

"What the _fuck_ , man. What kind of a joke is this?" Clearly, word had gotten around.

Dave levels his voice. "It's not a joke, Z."

"You can't be serious."

"I'm serious."

"How long have you been a . . . a . . . _shit_ , Karofsky."

"How long have I been a queer, right?" Dave has to talk himself down. Check his rage. He's _not_ that guy, not this year.

"Yeah."

"Probably forever."

"You sure Hummel didn't put you up to this? I hear you've gotten _friendly_ over the summer."

"Shut. Up. It's _not_ fucking like that. He's a friend. A better friend than you've ever been, if I'm being honest."

"Oh, that's so sweet. Defending your _boyfriend_." Azimio's voice is dripping with what Dave now knows is a dangerous combination of fear and hate. It's the tone that used to make Dave fear that Azimio could see into his soul, the tone that turned his own fear outward to target Kurt. Dave hates that voice. And then he realizes that he's cornered. Literally, back against the corner, looking not only into Azimio's twisted face but also at the students milling past on the stairs like Dave is invisible. He's staring to panic; he's never been _here_ before. He can feel his breath shallowing out, the knot in his stomach. He grits his teeth and thinks about running until he feels a familiar presence honing in on this little corner of Dave's private Hell.

Kurt.

Calm as can be, thank you very much, and pissed off. His voice is acid. " _What_ is going on?"

Azimio turns, and Dave takes the moment to suck in a deep breath. He only half-hears Azimio's reply, but he thinks it's along the lines of "what do you care, faggot?" He's about to push off the wall and do something with the rage simmering under his skin when he notices that Kurt has taken advantage and snuck around Azimio and into the corner with him. Kurt's fingers are gentle against his own, and his voice is lowered so that only Dave can hear: "Relax. I've got this."

In the span of a half-breath, Kurt stands up and fills himself with righteous anger; that automatically pitches his voice down half an octave, and his words are thorns.

"Why does it matter? Are you _threatened_? Wondering what it says about you that your alleged best friend is 'one of those fags'? Let me break it to you. It's not _about_ you. It's not about what you believe is right or wrong. It's not about breaking somebody else so that you can feel better about yourself. It's about someone's _life_. So just get the fuck over yourself and either support your friend or walk out of his life right now."

Dave can't help but hold his breath and wait. In a tiny corner of his brain, he's half-hoping that Azimio will stay, will support him. Will be the kind of friend he's always wanted. _The kind of friend Kurt is turning out to be_ says the muted voice in his head. But he isn't surprised when Azimio turns and lets himself be swept away on the tide of kids racing to class. Dave also isn't surprised to find that the abandonment doesn't even hurt.

In the moment after, Kurt nudges him with his shoulder. _Safe, friendly contact_ Dave thinks as Kurt offers "Walk you to lunch?"

"Yeah." His voice is jittery, but his nerves have calmed.

"You're probably not going to want to eat, but trust me. You'll need the food to counter the adrenaline, or else you'll be more jittery than usual for the rest of the afternoon."

Dave nods mutely as they reach the cafeteria, and then he's struck by an entirely new fear. He has no place to sit. Kurt must be peeking into his brain, because his voice is gentle against the loud chaos of the room. "I talked to some of the kids, and you can sit with us at the Glee table."

"Uh. OK." He can't say thank you because he isn't sure he means it. But it'll probably be better than he thinks.

It turns out to be pretty easy. The only grilling he gets is from Berry, who clearly _hadn't_ been in the loop. When she sees him wearing Kurt's shirt, her eyes go wide and her appraisal is keen. She holds him in her gaze as he sets his tray down, tucks his backpack under the table, and scoots his chair in. When he finally meets her eyes, she nods at him.

"It's not a joke." Her words are not a question.

"No." His reply is soft. "It's not."

"Okay."

The rest of the kids are subdued, but none of them are actively hostile. He knows he doesn't deserve any of what they are offering; he didn't just hurt Kurt when he was so lost and angry. He's hurt every one of them. Last year's apology had been met with varying degrees of acceptance, but he thinks that maybe now he'll really be able to show them how sorry he is. He's thinking about the best thing to say when Kurt is talking at him again, his tone low and oddly private for such a public space.

"Glee, Dave?"

"I was going to tell you. But I wanted it to be a surprise."

"Mr. Schue grabbed me and asked me this morning if I'd be okay with it. I guess he didn't want to let you in if we were going to have issues. Apparently he's well out of the gossip loop. Worse than Rachel." He rolls his eyes, attempts to lighten the mood at the table. Dave has a sudden moment of fear that Kurt won't want him infringing on Glee, so he starts to speak.

"I don't have to, if-"

"Dave. Stop. I saw how much you loved doing "Thriller". Finn said you were really good. There's a place for you in Glee, if you want it."

"I do. If the rest of them will have me."

"They will. Especially after today." Kurt nods to the shirt. "How are you?"

"Honestly?" At Kurt's nod, Dave continues. "I'm numb. And more than a little scared. Z isn't going to be the last angry person I'm going to meet."

"True. But with Glee you get the Noah Puckerman Secret Service."

"That's a good thing?"

"Not always. But he means well, and it's protection. And I've got your back. We'll get you through this."

Dave barely feels reassured, but he nods anyway and turns his attention to his slice of mystery meat and ball of gluey mashed potatoes. He fucking hates cafeteria food.

* * *

The end of the day can't come soon enough. When the bell rings after Glee, Dave hightails it out of school. He gets to leave early every day because of his community college math class, which only meets two afternoons a week, but Figgins doesn't seem to notice (or if he does, he doesn't care at all). He zips his hoodie up as he walks to his Jeep, tosses his backpack into the passenger seat before climbing up into the driver's side, and thankfully (blissfully) shuts the door on the world. He takes a moment, resting his forehead against the warmth of the steering wheel, to breathe. He tries not to cry. He's wondering what to do with his afternoon, thinking absently that it's Tuesday and wondering if Kurt still wants to meet for coffee, when his phone beeps.

 _You're done for the day?_

Kurt. Of course. Dave's hands shake as he types out his reply.

 _Yup_. _You?_

His dad would kill him for texting and driving, so Dave turns the key and at least gets a cool blast of air conditioning while he waits. Sure enough, his phone is soon chiming.

 _I wish. I'm in Calculus Hell. I might need a tutor. Coffee as usual?_

Dave smiles to himself, and types back.

 _Yes._

He shifts into drive and guns it out of the parking lot. One day down, 179 to go.

* * *

Kurt doesn't think he's ever had so much homework in his life, but that's only part of the reason why he's distracted at the Hudson-Hummel dinner table on Friday night. He can't stop thinking about Dave, about how he and Puck have been taking turns walking the other boy to his classes every day. About spending the better part of study hall two days in a row in the second floor boy's room rinsing grape slushie out of Dave's hair and then talking to him in a calm voice until he stopped shaking. He's pushing his spaghetti around his plate with his fork when he realizes the table has fallen silent. He looks up, and finds his dad and Carole looking him with concern.

"What?" He's clearly missed something.

"Just wondering what your plans are for tonight." His dad must not be too worried, because his voice is relaxed.

"Oh. Homework. I'm really not sure what I was thinking, all those AP's. And Calculus may just kill me."

Finn, oblivious as always, looks up from his salad bowl, an unruly cherry tomato finally speared into submission and halfway to his mouth. "You should ask Karofsky to help you. Isn't he taking some kind of college math? Dude's better at math than Artie."

"Thank you, Finn."

Kurt's dad clears his throat, levels Kurt with a gaze and asks "What's up with that, anyway? I mean, you're friends now?"

Kurt barely gets out a nod before Finn jumps in, mumbling around a mouthful of lettuce. "He's in Glee, too. And dude!" Finn swings his head to look at Kurt. "What's with you, walking him to class and stuff?"

Kurt can't believe that Finn is really _that_ clueless. He knows he's going to get a scolding for language from his dad when he nearly screams in frustration. "I'm walking him to class to make sure that he doesn't get his ass kicked in an empty hallway."

His dad and Carole look puzzled, and Carole finally speaks. "Okay, the adults are missing something. What's going on?"

Kurt sets his fork down and swallows before speaking. "Dave came out to the entire school on Tuesday. Needless to say, his announcement is being met with a startling lack of enthusiasm. Worse than mine, if that's even possible. I mean," he pauses to think out the rest of his words, "at least my friends stood by me. I think I might be his only friend right now."

Burt jumps on Kurt's reveal. "I haven't talked with Paul this week. I wonder if he knows?"

Kurt shakes his head, and feels a little weird talking about the Karofsky men this way. He knows things about them that he's pretty sure his dad doesn't, and he needs to be careful about betraying Dave's confidences. "Dave said he's been working late a lot, some big case that's going to trial really soon. I don't think he's had a chance to talk to him yet." His dad catches his eye and nods; Kurt's glad his unspoken message of _don't say anything_ got through clearly. He finishes his thought. "I'm kind of surprised it isn't all over town by now, anyway. I mean, football jock comes out isn't your usual first day of school occurrence."

"Is he okay?" Carole's concern is genuine. Kurt knows she's come to quietly like Dave in the time he's spent at the house, and he knows why: the Dave who's become Kurt's friend is polite and quiet and subtly funny. Nothing like the hard, angry boy who drove Kurt to Dalton. He thinks she might feel a little sad for him, what with his mom gone to Chicago and settled in with the stepfather Dave can't stand and the two half-siblings he secretly loves to pieces but never sees because of the stepfather. And that Kurt only knows because he was late coming home from work one afternoon and stumbled upon Carole and Dave talking over cookies at the kitchen table.

"He's managing. Which is far from okay. But he's still getting out of bed and going to school. And he hasn't shut down yet, so there's hope."

"Good. You tell him he's always welcome here."

Kurt smiles at Carole, feels a sudden surge of love in his chest, and half-wonders if Carole realizes that between him and his dad, Puck, and now Dave, she's gathered herself quite a collection of stray boys.

After the meal, after Finn has cleared the table and headed off to the movies with Rachel and Kurt is ensconced at the sink doing the dishes, his dad joins him in the kitchen.

"I just want to make sure you're okay with everything that's going on."

"With Dave?" Kurt keeps his head down as he transfers plates and silverware to the dishwasher.

"Yeah. I mean, I'm glad you're there for him and all, but I want to make sure that _you're_ all right."

"I am, Dad." The odd thing was, Kurt hadn't known until right that moment that he really _was_ all right. "You know, it's funny. I started hanging out with him because I felt bad. He was having such a hard time." _Like I was last year when I met Blaine_. "And the more time we spend together, the more I realize how alike we are. I think . . ." He pauses to gather his thoughts under the pretense of running hot water into the spaghetti pot. "I think he might be the best friend I've ever had. We just kind of _get_ each other. And if I can be there for him, help him with the kids at school. Well. I'm kind of helping myself, too. You know." He turns and looks at his dad. "Taking on the bullies in a way I wasn't equipped to do last year."

His dad's face is wide open, and when he speaks his voice is choked with love and what Kurt thinks might be pride. "You amaze me, kiddo. You have no idea. Just. Please. Take care of yourself, okay?"

"I always do."

"I know."

Kurt doesn't have time to dry his hands before his dad has him wraps him up in a bone-crushing hug; he doesn't even seem to notice the soap suds dripping down his back.

* * *

The better part of Kurt's fall passes in a haze of homework, college applications, and extra Glee rehearsals (because they are all determined to rank higher than 12th at Nationals in the spring). The days fall into a predictable routine: weekdays are school, Glee, and coffee/tutoring with Dave; weekends are mornings at the garage and then marathon sessions of homework. For the first time in his life, Kurt feels like he's a part of things rather than standing outside of them. It's an odd feeling, sometimes, but he's getting used to it.

The last Friday in October, he's in his room working on a paper for his English class when there's a knock on his door. He hasn't even answered when it opens and Dave is there looking smug and self-confident in black jeans and a black t-shirt, what looks like a crumpled flier in his outstretched hand.

"What are you doing here? We didn't have plans tonight."

Dave laughs nervously. "We didn't. Now we do. We're going dancing."

* * *

Dave snatched the flier off the bulletin board in the student center at the community college last week and stuffed it into his backpack, and then promptly forgot about it until this afternoon, when he found it wadded up between his Physics book and that stupid Steinbeck novel he was slogging through for English. It was for an under-21 club halfway between Lima and Dayton, no charge on Friday nights. Not explicitly gay. Dave had known right away that if anyone would be game to go, it would be Kurt. And he really needed to do something tonight. He drops the flier on the edge of Kurt's bed.

"My week sucked. I really need to blow off some steam. It's not gay, but it might be fun anyway." He takes in Kurt's worn t-shirt and flannel pants, the way his hair is sticking up on one side like he's been resting his head against it, the open notebook and spine-cracked copy of Native Son next to Kurt's laptop amid a mess of blankets and pillows on his bed. "Crap. I'm sorry. You're busy. I'll just-"

"No. Wait." Kurt sits up. "It's a good idea. But it's already after 8. What time does this thing start?"

"10. If we leave by 9, we can be there when it opens. It's Friday night. We can dance till midnight and still be home in time for curfew at 1."

Kurt smiles at him. "In two weeks, I won't have to worry about curfew."

Dave mentally curses his January birthday; Kurt's hitting 18 first. That's really going to suck.

"Your dad won't care?"

"No. He had to go down to Columbus for depositions or something. He's staying the night." _I think he's avoiding me_ is what Dave really wants to say, because the late work hours and weekend trips to Columbus for work have become more of a regular thing especially in the weeks since Dave came out at school. He knows that's just his dad's way of dealing with shit, giving it time and distance until his brain catches up with his heart. He's pretty sure that by Christmas things will be back to normal, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't sting in the meantime.

Kurt heaves a sigh and launches himself off his bed. "Fine. We'll go. But I'm driving, and if you don't want to be alone tonight you can stay here."

"Your parents won't mind?" He says that because it makes Kurt smile, because he can see the way Kurt and Carole care for each other. More like a mother and a son than the way Dave's own mother treats him.

"No. Give me 10 minutes to get dressed."

"Great. Wear your first day of school outfit. You'll have guys falling all over themselves to dance with you." He catches the way Kurt looks him over before nodding in approval.

"You're not so bad yourself, Karofsky."

* * *

The club is a small place just off the interstate. Kurt is surprised at how full the parking lot is, given that it's barely 10 pm. When he gets out of the car, he can feel the bass line pulsing in his feet and he instinctively starts bouncing. He's never really been out dancing before, and he's nervously excited. He grabs Dave's hand and practically drags him across the dirt parking lot to the door. They have to show id to get in, and they're each given a purple star stamp, "if you go out for any reason" the girl at the door says.

The dance floor is crowded with a pretty solid mix of guys and girls. Kurt finds a tiny pocket of space near the middle and pulls Dave into it with him; he closes his eyes for an instant and breathes in the music before throwing his arms up and starting to dance. It's the way he moves when he's alone in his bedroom, plugged into his headphones so the thumping of his dance mixes don't annoy the rest of the house. He always tells himself that he's practicing so he won't look like a fool when he gets to the big city of his dreams, but he knows now that he was always practicing for this moment, for the thrill of his first club and the pulsing of the crowd and the muted strobe throwing odd shadows across his pale skin. It doesn't matter that the club is in the boonies of Western Ohio instead of New York City, or that it's probably mostly full of straight kids rather than bursting with gay men. It's a bare taste of something powerful, something _more_. Something free. Kurt takes it in, and then lets it go. In that instant, _he_ is free. And it feels amazing.

* * *

Dave watches as Kurt dances, and he feels like he's seeing Kurt for the first time. Like all of the coffee and chess games and dares and challenges have led them right here to _this_ moment. And then Dave knows what Kurt is feeling because he can feel it too, like they are both too big and too much for this time and place. That they have places to go and men to grow up to be. And that they're not going to do any of it here in this town. They are getting out, and _this_ night, _this_ club, _these_ moments are just a taste of it. He can't help but feed off the energy Kurt is radiating. Dave stops for a moment, feels the warm press of bodies around him, lets the beating of his heart sync with the beat of the music. And then he takes a breath and loses himself in the brilliant high of dancing like he has nothing to lose.

* * *

They go back, every Friday night that they can, to dance off the stresses of school and friends and home and Glee. The rest of the guys are all still busy with football, but sometimes they will approach Tina or Brittany about going with; they always get turned down, and Kurt can't help but wonder if the Glee girls are engaged in some secret plot to make he and Dave into a couple. They dance to celebrate Glee's knockout win at Sectionals (a clear victory over Dalton, and Kurt can't help feeling bad about the way he ignored Blaine backstage), they dance in recognition of Kurt's 18th birthday, and they dance the day after Thanksgiving to celebrate the first real conversation Dave has had with his father since coming out at school. And on the first Friday of December, they dance in relief that their first completed college applications are in the mail, early decision for both he and Dave, to Yale and Berkeley respectively. That night as they share Kurt's bed (because Dave's dad is out of town _again_ ), Dave wonders aloud at how different his life is now than it was a year ago. Kurt thinks back to this time last year, pining over Blaine and feeling like he was being smothered in cotton oxford and navy wool. This is better. So much better. Kurt says so in a whisper.

"Thanks for being my friend." Dave's own voice is also a whisper, tinged at the edges with fatigue and shame. "I don't deserve you."

Kurt's heart leaps into his throat. "Oh, Dave. You deserve everything."

He's not surprised when Dave reaches across the span of mattress between them and takes his hand. Kurt squeezes gently before falling into a deep sleep. When he wakes up the next morning, Dave is gone.


	4. Nothing at All

Sometimes, even though he's come a long way in the past year, Dave just can't talk. Unfortunately Kurt is a big talker, so when Dave wakes up that morning with his arm (unintentionally) thrown across Kurt's chest he does the one thing he knows will buy him a little space: he runs. He knows Kurt won't chase him down; they've had _that_ conversation before. Actually, it was more along the lines of Dave shouting in frustration that he "needed some fucking space, so don't fucking follow me" as he stormed out of the 2nd floor boy's room, cherry slushie sliding cold and sticky along the collar of his t-shirt. Since then, Kurt just leaves Dave alone when he bails because he knows that Dave will call or come over when he's ready.

After coffee and corn flakes with banana in his silent house, after a shower and some math problem sets and Physics to quiet his brain, and after three chapters of that damn Steinbeck book and then three chapters of one of Kurt's fluffy gay romances as a reward for the three chapters of Steinbeck, Dave thinks he might be ready. He thinks about stopping and bringing Kurt a mocha in apology, and is halfway off his bed and rooting for his sneakers when hears his dad's key scraping in the lock. Well, crap. They've been like ships passing, or ghosts to each other, for the better part of the fall. Dave spends lots of time away from the house when his dad is home, and even more time away when his dad _isn't_ home. Because as much as he doesn't like being ignored, he _really_ doesn't like being abandoned. And really, that's what it feels like when his dad is gone. Dave stuffs his feet into his sneakers, tucks his wallet in his back pocket, and shrugs into his jacket. He lets his keys jingle in his hand as he runs down the stairs and acts surprised when he sees his dad fixing himself a cup of coffee at the counter.

"Oh, hey Dad. I didn't hear you come in." _Liar_. "I was just going out. Got some books to pick up at the library." _Liar liar pants on fire_.

"David." His dad's voice is weary.

"How was Columbus?" The look his question gets is perhaps the most honest thing he's seen on his dad's face in months.

"This case is killing me. I'm glad to be home."

Dave's a little surprised by his own response. "I'm glad you're home, too." He looks down at his hand that is still holding his keys, and he sets them down on the counter. "I miss you when you're gone."

His dad's smile is weak, but it's a smile. "I miss you, too, David. It feels wrong leaving you alone like that."

"Yeah. Well. I stay at Kurt's a lot when you're not home."

"I know. Burt told me. You're spending a lot of time with Kurt."

"He's become a good friend."

"I'm glad. That you have a friend. Especially with leaving the football team."

"Yeah. The kids in Glee are turning out to be better friends, all of them, than the football team ever was. It's kind of funny." But Dave knows it's not really funny. He also knows now that part of why he was always so jealous of the Glee gang was because they were like a little family. Ever since his mom left, Dave's been looking for that. He doesn't have it, not yet, but he's getting there.

"You like Glee, though?"

"It's different. But it's fun, and it's not nearly as much pressure as football. I've got enough of that, with school." What Dave lets go unspoken is how he feels when he's practicing or performing; it's not _happy_ , per se, but he thinks it might be close to that. He feels light, like everything else in his world disappears. He's not the most talented guy. His dancing is only marginally better than Finn's, and his voice is mediocre. But Mr. Schue keeps reminding him that there is a place for everyone in Glee, that not everyone has to be a star and that for some of the kids, it's just about having a place to be themselves and have fun. Or, as Rachel keeps telling him, _being a part of something special makes you special._ Dave totally gets that.

Now, though, he leans against the cabinets and watches his dad spoon more sugar into his coffee than Dave even uses (which, according to Kurt is more like 'have some coffee with your sugar, Dave'), and he breathes through feelings of abandonment and disconnectedness and says "how about I just wait and go to the library after school on Monday?"

Dave's dad waves the offer away. "Thank you. But I really want to take a shower and have a nap. I have maybe an hour of work to do. But if you want, stop at a RedBox and get a couple of movies. We could order pizza or something for dinner, and watch movies."

Dave sighs with relief. "I'd like that."

"Good. Now. Leave me to my coffee and go see Kurt."

"I wasn't-"

"Yes. You were. I know you, David. Go see Kurt, and apologize for whatever has you looking guilty. And if you want to tell me about it over pizza tonight, I'd like that, too." Dave can hear the _better than a movie_ that his dad leaves unsaid, and he wonders as he closes the back door behind him if reconnecting is really going to be this easy.

* * *

With a week to go before their all-too-short Christmas break, Kurt and Dave carpool down to Columbus for their college interviews. Dave's meeting is at 10 am with a Berkeley admissions counselor. Kurt's is at noon with a Yale alum, a law student at OSU. The car is silent on the drive down. Dave keeps fiddling with the navy tie at the neck of his blue button-down. Kurt thinks that he looks appropriately preppy, and actually a better fit for Yale than Kurt does in his vintage-style grey slacks and vest and his favorite black button-down. He didn't want to be too outrageous, but he also wanted to make it clear that he's not a cookie-cutter kid. When he pulls into the parking garage at the large chain hotel where Dave is meeting the counselor, Kurt takes a moment and covers Dave's hands with his own. "Don't fidget. Don't fiddle with your tie. Be yourself. You'll do just fine."

"Uh huh."

Kurt follows Dave into the lobby, and motions with his head to the adjoining coffee shop. "I'll be in there. I have an absolute mountain of translations for French. Come find me when you're done." Dave nods at him and is halfway across the lobby when Kurt calls out to him "And Dave?" Dave turns, eyes wide. "Kick some ass." It's unlike Kurt on many levels, but it has its intended purpose: it makes Dave smile. Kurt lingers for a moment in the doorway to the coffee shop, watches as Dave strides confidently over to the mousy-looking woman in a business suit who must be the counselor, shakes her hand strongly, and accepts her invitation to sit down. Then he finally turns away and swallows around his own nerves.

Kurt's meeting is in yet another coffee shop. Dave follows him in with his own backpack and homework plan for while Kurt is interviewing, and Kurt lets him through the door first before taking a step inside and surveying the half-full shop. It's a mix students and young families a short distance from the university, and Kurt's eyes finally settle on a good looking guy, maybe 23 or 24, sandy brown hair and smart-guy glasses. Black turtleneck sweater and dark-wash jeans. Maybe Kurt isn't as underdressed as he thought. He feels his hands drifting over the hem of his vest and then he hears Dave from the table where he settled. "Kurt!" Kurt turns and rolls his eyes. "Kick some ass!" When Kurt gives Dave an exasperated look, Dave just smiles and says "Sorry, dude, payback's a bitch." Kurt turns back and starts walking over to the table where they guy is now standing.

"Kurt Hummel?"

"You must be Andrew?"

"Please, call me Drew." Kurt takes his hand to shake it, and is pleased that this Drew has a firm handshake. Kurt instantly gets a read on his gaydar, which is further confirmed when Drew smiles and darts his eyes over to Dave.

"Boyfriend?"

"Oh. No. Just a friend. He had an interview this morning for Berkeley, so we carpooled. Lima's about a two hour drive, and it really didn't make sense for us to come down separately."

"Ah. Would you like anything to eat or drink? My treat?"

"No, thank you. I've had plenty of coffee already, and I'm honestly too nervous to eat."

Drew laughs easily, and looks at Kurt with knowing eyes. "I remember all too well. But look, this isn't meant to be a nerve-wracking thing. This is a chance for you to learn more about the university, and for me to learn about you. And just so you know, all I know is your name and where you go to school."

"Okay."

"When I went on my interviews, there were some that were awful and one that was really good. The one that was really good was just like sitting down and having a conversation. That's my goal for us today. Just having a conversation."

"Sounds good." Kurt can hear his own words to Dave echoing in his head, so he folds his hands on the table instead of letting them flutter out of nervousness.

"Great. So. Why Yale?"

Kurt blurts out the first thing in his head, and curses the disappearance of his filter. "Why not?" _Oh, so not the right thing to say._ "Okay. You want me to be honest, right?"

"Yes."

"I need to get out of Ohio. I know lots of kids probably tell you that they can't wait to get out of whatever small town they're from because there's no future for them there. And I'm sure it's true. But the reality of my life is that until last fall, I was tormented on an almost daily basis. I've been tossed in dumpsters, locked in porta-potties, been called every name you can imagine. My dad has gotten threatening phone calls. And I get up every day and go to school. I put up with the hate because I _know_ that my mind is my ticket out. I know that I'm more than those things the other kids say about me. I have plans and dreams, and while they all start with getting out of Lima, they only go forward because of Yale. Or someplace like it. But preferably Yale."

"But why Yale, over all the other places like it?"

"To prove to myself that I can."

"Well. That was certainly honest."

"Please don't hold it against me. When I get worked up, or nervous, I have a bad habit of speaking before I think."

Drew's voice is gentle. "It's fine, Kurt. Why don't you tell me a little bit more about yourself? Your classes, what you do for fun, what you might want to study in college."

Those are the easy things, so Kurt talks about loading up on AP's not only for the credits but also to show himself that he can do it. About how much he loves French, how he can't wait to learn languages and study literature and maybe join an a cappella group because while he never felt at home at Dalton he liked the challenge of singing with the Warblers. And then he just sort of drifts into life with his dad, and how sometimes it feels like Carole and Finn have always been a part of it even though it hasn't even been two years. How Glee has given him more than he ever thought possible that first day when he sang Mr. Cellophane in the empty auditorium. He slows then, and is shifting in his chair when Drew asks "Tell me about your friend."

"Oh. Dave?"

"That's his name?"

"Yes. It's a funny story, actually. So I told you about changing schools last year because I was being threatened." At Drew's nod, Kurt continues. "He was the one threatening me. But we were both different then. We've both changed a lot."

"And now you're friends."

"It's not nearly as cut and dry as that, but the short answer is yes. We're friends. I like to think that we're good for each other. We're each other's reasons for these high-reaching college plans."

"Can you explain that?"

"We have this term for the people who are just going to be stuck at home forever, working dead end jobs and wondering if there's more to life than what they have. Lima Losers. It's very, very rare that anyone leaves, and even if they do leave they somehow always come back. Neither of us wants that, so back in the summer we challenged each other to dream big. Go big or go home, if you will. Yale is my big."

"And your others?"

"Are you allowed to ask that?"

"It's not for my report. I'm just curious about the other places Kurt Hummel might land if Yale doesn't happen."

"Ah. In that case, NYU, Williams, Wesleyan, Brown, and George Washington."

"All good schools."

"Yes. Drew?"

"Yes?"

"What brought you to Ohio? It's not really a place people come to from somewhere else."

"Well, Kurt. We're surprisingly more alike than you might think. I grew up in New Hampshire, in a small town nobody ever left. But I did. I can't say that Ohio is my dream, but it's a stop on my way. Yale wasn't the end of my dream, either. It was the first in a long line of them."

Kurt feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and blinks them away rapidly before Drew can see them. But his voice betrays him. "I want it to be the first in a long line of mine, too. More than anything."

"I hope you get it, Kurt. I really do."

* * *

While Kurt and Dave make the long drive back to Lima, singing along with Dave's iPod as the December sky turns from blue to pink to black, Drew types up his notes on his interview with Kurt. A positive recommend from an interviewer just enhances a strong candidate, while a negative recommend can break a borderline one. Drew has no idea what the committee thinks of Kurt, but he knows what _he_ thinks of Kurt. After paragraphs detailing the concrete things Drew knows the committee likes to see in interview reports, he taps return and adds a paragraph.

 _Kurt Hummel did not come to Yale for Yale. That is to say that he did not apply just to say he did, and he's not looking for an acceptance just to say that he got one. Kurt Hummel applied to Yale because he knows that it is the first step in a long journey to his ultimate dream. He is determined and resilient, and has proven through his friendship with the boy who used to be his tormenter that he is capable of continued growth and change. He is a remarkable young man who will thrive at Yale. And the Yale he would leave behind after four years would be very different from the one that will hopefully welcome him in September._

In a hotel across town, an exhausted admissions counselor refers back to her handwritten notes. She's met many kids on this trip, an almost endless string of student leaders and star athletes who are exactly like the kids she saw last week in Philadelphia and will see next week in Colorado. She tears the pages out of her legal pad, stacking them in piles of "yes", "no", and "indifferent". Most of the student stars, as appealing as she knows they are to the committee, get layered in the "indifferent" pile. She hates that. It's not that they're bad kids, they're just boring. They're the same kids the committee rubber-stamps by the hundreds for admission every spring. But this year, she wants something different. She lingers over David Karofsky. All she knows is what she got in the interview, even though his complete file is in her briefcase; she doesn't like to read the files before she meets the kids. She reaches into the pile and plucks his out, takes it over to the bed and starts reading.

Divorced parents, limited activities. Pretty good grades, except for some problems last fall that got explained when she met with him. Recommendations from his football coach ("David has come a long way since his troubles last fall. He is growing into a strong, respectful, remarkable young man. I was sad to see him leave the team this year, but I fully understand and support his decision") and a math teacher ("David has always been attentive and conscientious in the classroom, and he has the most natural aptitude for higher math of any student I have seen in my twenty years of teaching"). His graded writing sample, a B+ English paper, is a strong effort; she likes that he didn't submit a perfect paper. And then she reads his essay. He didn't open up that deeply with her; he was personable, though, in that reserved kind of way she sees in these Midwestern kids, especially the boys. But his personal statement! She reads it twice, through slight laughter and a sheen of tears, and thinks that it's one of the better ones she's read this admissions season. It's simple, straightforward, and painfully honest.

 _These are the things I knew when I was a junior: Football was my ticket out of Ohio; the kids in the Glee Club were the biggest losers in the school; there was no better feeling than the way a full cup of Slushie felt in my hand right before I tossed it in someone's face._

 _I used to be a bully. I can't say exactly why I started. It was probably because I wanted to belong. That's all I've ever wanted, really, so when the guys who claimed they were my friends started picking on the freaks and geeks I went along. And then I realized that I was doing it to keep people from finding out my secrets. If all anyone ever saw was Dave Karofsky the dumb jock bully then they wouldn't get too close. Last fall, I went overboard. There was a kid at my school who was openly gay, and I made every day a living hell for him, all because I was scared. I was scared because I knew by then that I was gay, too, and I was afraid that everyone could see it. So I got mean and loud, and I sought him out every day because I had nowhere else to put my anger and my pain and my desperate need to belong. I drove that boy out of school, and then I was really alone._

 _Fast forward a year. These are the things I know now: Green Slushie burns your eyes if you don't get them closed in time; red will stain your clothes, blue will stain your skin, and the grape ones tend to clump your hair the worst; football is something I really only did because it was expected of me; the kids in the Glee Club are turning out to be better friends and more of a family than I deserve; and maybe we're all losers._

 _There are still days when I feel alone, but that kid came back to school and I now consider him my friend. His generous and forgiving spirit amazes me, and makes me want to be a bigger and better person. I came out on the first day of school; everyone knows my secret now, and I'm not suffocating anymore. Things aren't perfect. Far from it, in fact. I'm still learning how to be myself. My friends and family are still learning how to accept me, and people I thought were my friends have walked away. But we all get up every day and try, and I suppose that over the long term that's all we can ask from ourselves._

When she talked with him, he positively came to life when he talked about getting out of Ohio; she knows that he's only applied to schools in and around San Francisco, and when she asked him about that he blushed. And then he asked her "Have you read 'Tales of the City'?" She told him yes, and was completely charmed by his response. "Then you get it. I read those books, one after the other, and I absolutely _fell in love_." It was such an open answer, so true to whatever he holds tight in his heart. She remembers her own journey from her small town to college so many years ago, and she thinks that Dave Karofsky is the different she was looking for. She tears his page of notes off her pad and settles it into the "yes" pile. She knows she's going to have to go to bat for him with the committee; he's going to be a hard sell on a number of fronts, but she's up for the battle. She wants him.

* * *

Tuesday night is the annual McKinley Holiday Arts Festival. Burt sits somewhat awkwardly between Carole and Paul Karofsky. Paul hadn't been able to make it to Sectionals in the fall, but Burt had called him over the weekend to make sure that he was going to be at the concert tonight. "I think it would mean a lot to David," he'd said. Paul's response had saddened him.

"He didn't invite me."

"Probably because he thought you weren't really interested. Trust me. If you're there, it will mean the world to him."

Paul's noncommittal sigh led Burt to think that he'd back out, but there he was, rolling his program up and twisting it in his hands. _So that was where Dave got the fidgeting_ , Burt thinks absently as they sit through the Freshman Orchestra, the Symphonic Band, the Jazz Band, and the Ballet Club. And then the kids are onstage, in black pants and white sweaters, every one of them with a Santa hat. "Jingle Bell Rock", "Holly Jolly Christmas," "We Need a Little Christmas." That annoying Rachel girl singing "O Holy Night" with Puckerman, which makes Burt laugh because they're both Jewish. And then Kurt steps away from the group into the spotlight as the opening strains of "Silent Night" echoes through the silent auditorium. Burt had heard Kurt's voice change in bare increments over the last year, but it hadn't moved down enough to take away his higher register. What the change had done was given him more depth and control over his voice, which now rings clear and true. It sends shivers down Burt's arm to where Carole is gripping his hand. When he looks over at his wife, she has tears streaming down her cheeks; that sight brings tears to his own eyes, because he knew but didn't often see what Carole kept close to her chest: she loves Kurt like he has always been her own son. It was a good match his kid had made, for all of them.

A glance to the left tells him that Paul had finally stopped strangling his program. Instead his eyes are riveted on Dave, standing in the back row next to Finn looking like he'd been hit with a 2x4. He is absolutely staring at Kurt like he's never seen him before. Burt knows that look. And that look is going to become a problem.

* * *

After the concert, Kurt's dad and Carole take him and Finn out for a late dinner before they head home and Kurt settles in on his bed with a book; he has no homework, and no real clue why they even bother going to school the last three days before winter break. He's still riding the high of the performance, of his solo, of the way Dave's eyes sparkled backstage afterwards. He's absorbed in his book, completely ignoring the minutes ticking away on his clock, when he hears the chime of his text message alert.

 _You awake?_ Dave.

 _Yes._

 _Good. Let me in._

Shit. It's almost midnight. Kurt turns his book page-down on his bed and pads downstairs. He can see the light peeking out from under Finn's closed door, and can hear muted voices; he's either talking to Rachel or watching a movie. He moves slowly on the stairs and flips the deadbolt on the front door with silent precision. Sure enough, there is Dave, still wide-eyed and now flushed from the cold night air. Kurt pulls him into the room and up the stairs with whispered urgings to _be really fucking quiet, or my dad will kill us both_. When they're both in his room with the door closed, he turns on Dave and hisses "Jeez, Dave. What's going on? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I just didn't get a chance to tell you how really good you were tonight."

"That couldn't have waited till school tomorrow? Today?"

"But you were still up, so why does it matter?"

"I guess it doesn't." And then he really looks at Dave, at the ratty sweatpants and t-shirt Kurt knows he wears to bed. At his bare feet shoved into sneakers. At the raw edges of his fingernails where he's clearly been biting them. Kurt puts a hand on his hip and stares then, holding Dave's eyes for mere seconds before the other boy looks away.

"Really, Dave, what's going on?"

"God, Kurt. I'm sorry. I keep telling myself to just let it go, but tonight. God. You were so good. You were amazing. You are."

Kurt watches Dave pause to breathe, and in that moment he knows what's coming. It's like that moment before Blaine kissed him in the Dalton common room. He thinks about turning away before Dave lets the breath out, but he's too slow, his reflexes dulled by the late hour and the unexpected visitor. Dave picks up his unfinished thought and continues.

"You are amazing. And I keep telling myself that I'm not ready, that we both deserve more. Because I know you don't feel what I do, and I'm not even sure what I really do feel. But I-"

And Kurt has to stop him, stop this. Because the things Dave is saying are all a brilliant mix of unuttered truths and the lies Kurt tells himself to keep things from going too far when he isn't sure what he wants, or needs, or feels either. He can't break Dave's heart, can't let his own be held and broken again. And yet. He doesn't fight too hard when Dave's hands are gentle against his face, or when Dave's lips are soft on his own. This kiss is a different kind of test than what happened in the locker room, but Kurt still pulls away. Still covers his mouth with his hand. And still lets a trembling breath escape his lungs after Dave whispers _I'm not sorry_ before he disappears into the night.


	5. Need You Now

Kurt almost never misses a day of school, but he can't stand the thought of sitting in class watching George C. Scott in A Christmas Carol on endless repeat when he can't erase the feeling of Dave's hands and lips, the heat of his body. Instead, Kurt manages to convince his dad that he's getting sick. It's not that hard, not when his eyes are red-rimmed and gritty from a sleepless night and his voice is hoarse with emotion. He sits at the kitchen table in the pre-dawn darkness, hands warm around a mug of tea, and listens to his dad call him in sick to school. Then he retreats to the sanctuary of his room where he falls asleep to the sounds of his family they all start their respective days. When he finally wakes up, it's nearly afternoon and the house is quiet.

He needs to be anywhere but here. Well, anywhere but here and at school.

He hates the feeling like he's crawling out of his skin. It's foreign, anymore; something he hasn't experienced since those first difficult days at Dalton when he felt like he was both oddly inside the rooms he'd been peering into his whole life and also shunted into the corners of those very same rooms.

He forgoes a shower, instead layering a black sweater over a Henley and his favorite black jeans. He dampens his hands and runs them through his hair, leaving it more mussed than he usually would. But it's not like he's going anywhere where people will care. He stuffs his wallet into his pocket, makes sure he has his iPod and cell phone, and heads downstairs for his coat and keys. And then he drives. At first it's pretty aimless, but he isn't surprised when his autopilot takes him to the overlook. It's cold out, but he gets out of the car anyway and climbs up to the top of the hill. He stands on the hillside and lets his brain just run circles over Dave and the kiss and what he may or may not feel (or may or may not want to admit he feels).

The only hard conclusion he comes to is that the whole thing is a fucking mess.

Now that he's been pressed, it's easier to admit that his feelings for Dave have occasionally wandered across the "just friends" line and into the "I kind of like you _that way_ " side of things. This Dave, _his_ Dave, is a definite catch: he's smart and funny and quiet and nice, and he has plans that don't involve staying in Lima forever. But it still feels wrong, like its incestuous or something. He prides himself on being Dave's mentor. He doesn't want to ruin that relationship, or to drive away a friendship he's really come to both enjoy and rely on. Besides, they both have so many other things going on right now. Adding a relationship into the mix now would be a bad move all around.

Kurt gets caught up as the jumbled thoughts just keep cycling through his head. He came here for clarity, but it's proving elusive. He doesn't even hear Dave until the other boy is behind him, pulling him close and whispering into his ear.

"You weren't in school."

Kurt doesn't turn around. "Neither are you, apparently."

Dave brushes the statement aside with a huff. "Finn said you were sick. You're not sick."

"Thanks for stating the obvious."

"You're avoiding me."

"No." _I'm avoiding myself_.

"I'm still not sorry. That I kissed you. Last night, I mean. I am about the locker room. I mean, I know we've never really talked about it, but I am sorry about that. It was wrong."

The apology is too little too late, but Kurt accepts it anyway; they've only ever joked about that kiss, and Kurt doubts that there's ever going to be a good time to talk seriously about it. They've come so far together since then, grown so much, that Kurt telling Dave exactly what he stole that day would only serve to hurt. So he takes the apology and turns his attention back to the fact that Dave is warm and solid and strong against him. He takes a deep breath and thinks that maybe talking without _looking_ at Dave is going to be what gets this sorted out. When he finally speaks, his words sound harder than he meant them.

"I can't be your boyfriend, Dave."

"I know."

"It's not that I don't . . . have _feelings_ . . . for you. Because I think I might. I just-"

"I know, Kurt." Dave's breath as he talks tickles at the edge of Kurt's ear, ruffles his hair. It feels more intimate than their current state of affairs deserves, and Kurt thinks about wrenching himself away. But he can't. Dave's tone when he continues is patient. "The timing is all wrong. I'm not even good for myself right now. I wouldn't do that to you."

"Thank you." Kurt's voice crackles to the point where he almost misses the afterthought that spills from Dave's mouth: "You mean too much to me."

That just about does Kurt in, and before he knows what he's doing he's turned around, hands grasping at the back of Dave's neck and his mouth hard and hungry. He's putting all of his emotions into the kiss, _don't you dare hurt me_ and _I shouldn't want this_ and underscoring everything else _you matter to me, too_.

When he (or was it Dave?) finally breaks away, he buries his face in the shoulder of Dave's coat and shakes his head. "What was I thinking?"

Dave's own laugh is shaky at best. "We have to stop doing that."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not."

"Okay. I'm not. But you're right, we do have to stop. Because as much as I'd like to jump in with both feet, I did that with Blaine. I've done that with every boy I've ever liked, gay or not, and I don't want to do that here. Because your first boyfriend should be able to give you his heart and his soul, and I'm not that guy. Not right now."

"So, even if we're not dating, can we still kiss? 'Cause _that_ was fun."

When Kurt looks up, he can see the half-teasing grin on Dave's face, but he knows enough about Dave to know that there is seriousness behind his words. Kurt decides to take his cue from Dave and laughs outright. "No kissing. No friends with benefits shit. That only ends in things like Babygate and fistfights in the hallway and Rachel storming out of Glee. Again." At Dave's confused look, Kurt continues. "Look, we both know that the feelings are out there. We don't want to hurt each other. So we have to agree that if things flare up, we _need_ to talk about them. Please."

Kurt feels Dave's body stiffen slightly, and then he gives in. "Fine. We'll _talk_."

"Good."

"Dude. It's fucking freezing out here. Can we, like, go somewhere else?"

"My house?"

"I'll follow you there."

* * *

It isn't often that Dave is over at Kurt's when nobody is home. The quiet is a little unnerving, mostly because it's the quiet of a house that isn't his. Kurt seems at ease in it, though, much like Dave would appear in his own house. He follows Kurt up to his room, and they both shed coats and shoes and their extra layers of sweaters and long-sleeved shirts in silence. Dave is tossing his sweatshirt into a pile with his coat when Kurt's voice drifts over from the shelf of DVDs in the corner. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

Dave shakes his head before he realizes that Kurt isn't looking at him. "Not really. A little bit."

"Movie for watching or movie for sleeping?"

"Movie for watching." Dave knows he'll go home and crash later. And really, he doesn't want the wrath of Burt Hummel if he's found sleeping in Kurt's bed in the middle of a weekday afternoon.

Dave watches as Kurt runs his finger along the cases, touching some and then moving back towards others. When he turns back to Dave, he has a boxed set of something in his hands and a crazy grin on his face. He holds the box out and asks "Have you ever seen this?"

"No."

"Oh, good. Consider this the first part of your Great Gay Education. I mean, I wouldn't be any kind of a friend if I sent you off to the big bad city without some kind of introduction to queer culture."

"There's a culture?"

"Well. Not really. I mean, nothing set in stone. But there are references, touchpoints. We'll start with this. And I'll let you borrow some books. History."

Dave shoots Kurt a look that says _really? You suck._ He isn't surprised, though, when Kurt keeps talking.

"Look. You know yourself now. That's huge and important. But you also need to know our tribe. Because we are everywhere, and we are utterly fabulous. So. We start with this." Dave settles back on Kurt's bed, propped up on the twenty million pillows against the headboard, and watches Kurt slide the DVD into the player. Suddenly the room is full with a heavy backbeat, like club music, as shirtless men dancing flash across the screen. Then the action shifts and there are three guys standing at a bar. The voice-over is fast and funny. Dave gets hooked almost right away, mostly because the people seem real, like the kinds of guys he'd meet when he's grown up and out of school and living somewhere. They're not perfect. They're just guys who are gay.

After the third episode, Kurt goes downstairs to make popcorn and get them sodas. Dave wanders over to Kurt's DVD shelf and sees that there are four more seasons of the show; he knows what they'll be spending winter weekends doing. Because now that he's sucked in, he has to see how all the drama will end.

They spend the afternoon watching, Kurt's head resting against Dave's shoulder, and they only move when it's starting to get dark and Kurt hears his dad's car pull into the driveway. Dave sits up then, and rubs a hand across his face. He's totally zoned, and he wishes he didn't have to leave the cocoon of Kurt's room for the cold outside. He's got his shoes on his feet and is pulling his sweatshirt over his head when Mr. Hummel's voice echoes up the stairs. "Boys, I'm home! That is your Jeep outside, right David?"

Dave waves a silent goodbye to Kurt; he'll call or text later anyway, so he grabs his jacket and bounds down the stairs. Mr. Hummel is standing at the bottom, looking only mildly put out. Dave decides to head him off at the pass, and starts talking without really thinking.

"Hey, Mr. H. I was worried about Kurt because he wasn't in school and Finn wasn't sure what was going on. We were just watching a movie. I think he's feeling better."

He tries to move around to get to the door, but he startles as Mr. Hummel rests a hand on his arm.

"Come into the kitchen with me for a minute, will you?"

"Sure." Oh, crap. This isn't going to be good.

Mr. Hummel gestures for Dave to sit, which he does.

"What exactly are your intentions towards my son?"

Yeah. Not good. "Um. We're just friends."

"I saw how you were looking at him last night. That wasn't a 'just friends' look."

"You're right, sir. It wasn't. But I'm not in a place where it's a good idea to do anything about that right now. And I would never hurt Kurt. So you don't have anything to worry about."

"I better not. I'm watching you, David."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, go home."

"Yes, sir."

Well. That had gone better than Dave had expected. As he drove away, he couldn't help thinking about the poor guy ten years down the line who decided that he wanted to marry Kurt Hummel.

* * *

Kurt's wrapped up in his blankets with the TV on mute when his dad knocks on the door.

"Hey, kid. You feeling better?"

"Yeah, Dad."

He's surprised when his dad comes over and sits on the edge of his bed. "What's up with you and Dave?"

"Nothing." Kurt so doesn't want to have this conversation right now.

"That's what he said, too. I was just checking."

"Dad, you didn't-"

"I did. He loves you, y'know."

"No, he doesn't. He doesn't know what he feels." _Neither do I_.

"What about you? What do you feel?"

"Honestly?"

"Please." His dad sounds weary. Whether it's from dealing with customers at the garage or from teen drama, Kurt isn't sure.

"I don't know what I feel. I kind of like him, but neither of us are good to go in a relationship right now. So we're just friends. Of the no-benefits kind, before you freak out."

"So I don't have to worry about him being over here if I'm not home? With your door closed?"

"No. Dad. No worries. I just . . . thank you. For letting us have the door closed. Sometimes . . ."

"I get it. Sometimes you guys just need privacy. To talk or whatever."

Kurt's kind of surprised that his dad knows about _those_ days, the multiple-slushie, angry slur, hate-filled stare kinds of days that can break a kid down. Those days when he and Dave shut themselves in Kurt's room and hide out for a couple of hours. But then again, his dad knows Kurt.

"Thanks, Dad. For everything." _For loving me, and being proud of me, and for protecting me._

"Always. Hey, Carole's working late and Finn is going to Rachel's for dinner. You want to order takeout and watch TV with me? If you're feeling up for it?"

Kurt smiles. "I'd like that a lot. Can we get Chinese?"

"Of course. C'mon down, you can call it in while I get cleaned up."

* * *

Dave goes to Chicago for Christmas, because his mother calls on the Friday that school gets out for break and practically begs him. And because his dad thinks it will be good for him. Dave's pretty sure it's actually going to suck. He's bummed because he and Kurt had plans to spend a chunk of break watching as much Queer as Folk as they can get away with. But whatever. He'll deal. He always does. And he's going to Chicago, which means that he might be able to find the perfect Christmas gift for Kurt.

It's been close to three years since he's been out to see his mom. It's not something he likes to do, mostly because she walked out on him and his dad but also kind of because she married that jackass Richard. He can tell his mom loves the guy, but he doesn't treat her right. He's hands off with Skylar and Kylie, leaving them to Dave's mom. The first night, over dinner, Richard looks at Dave and rolls his eyes over their little-girl giggles. Later, when Dave lies with them on the living room floor coloring pages he's carefully torn out of a Dora the Explorer coloring book, Richard tells him strongly "You don't have to do that. Leave it for your mom. Why don't you come in the other room with me and we can watch the Bulls?"

"No thanks. I'm fine here. And I don't like basketball."

"You don't like basketball. Your mom said you joined the Glee Club. Are you going soft?" Dave watches as Richard waggles his hand. There are so many things he wants to say, but nothing that's appropriate to blurt out in front of the pre-school set. He pushes himself to his feet, careful not to step on any crayons, and crosses to where Richard is standing. He hisses his reply, moving well into Richard's personal space and using his upraised pointer finger for emphasis.

"What does it matter to you if I am? You're not my father. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk that way around the girls. They're young and impressionable, and they deserve to learn better than that."

"They deserve better than to have a half-brother who's a f-"

" _Not here_. Don't you get it at all? Not. In front. Of the girls. If you and I are going to have this conversation, we're having it in private. But I'm not having it with you before I have it with my mother." Dave turns and walks away, but before he gets too far he mutters half under his breath. "Asshole." He doesn't see his mother leaning against the frame of the kitchen door, dish towel in her hand and eyes wide.

She comes to the office/guest room later, when he's tucked into the fold-out couch with a thick mystery his dad got him for the trip. He moved aside so she has space to sit.

"I heard you talking to Richard earlier. Your dad mentioned a couple of times that you've had some troubles, and lots of stuff going on."

"Yeah." He has no idea how to even talk with his mother. They only talk on the phone on holidays and birthdays, but they do email from time to time. He decides that it's best to just do it. She hardly knows him anyway. What can it hurt? "It's been a long year. I got in a bit of trouble last fall, bullying this kid at my school. But I've changed a lot. It was just a hard time. I'm. Um. Mom."

She's looking at him like she already knows. Maybe she does. "I'm gay."

"I thought when I head you and Richard that it might be something like that."

"I'll talk with him, but you need to know that if he's going to talk about me that way, I can't stay here. I get that every day at school. I don't deserve it someplace that's supposed to be safe."

"No, David. _I'll_ talk to him." She smiles at him then, kind of sad but strong at the same time. "I know you think he treats me badly. And I know you're mad at me for leaving. But you have to understand that I couldn't stay where I wasn't happy. It had nothing to do with you, or even your dad. It had to do with what I ultimately wanted for my life. Even with you and your dad, I still wasn't going to find it in Lima." Dave does understand, so he keeps listening. "You're my _son._ I love you. And I'm proud of you. I'll take care of Richard."

"The girls. Don't let them hear him talk like that. So many kids at my school, they learn that hate from their parents." His voice is soft. He thinks about how lucky Kurt has been, to have his dad supporting him. He thinks about how far his own dad has come in this journey, and how it all seems to matter so little to his mother.

"I know, baby." Her hand is gentle against his own, where he's holding his place in his book with his finger. "I'll teach them right. They adore you, you know. I wish you got to spend more time with them. Maybe this summer? Richard has some business trips planned. Maybe you could come down for a week or two while he's gone?"

His mom is shrewd. Dave is silently pleased that she sees not only how he feels about Richard, but also how Richard feels about him.

"I think I'd like that. Did dad tell you about my college plans?"

"No. I think he wanted you to tell me. Would you like to? Tell me?"

So he does. He tells her the things he doesn't always tell his dad, about Kurt and challenges and bravery, about Berkeley and being in love with a city built on words. He stumbles over trying to tell her how happy he is that she's just accepting him, which makes her cry. He tells her that he's sorry for being distant. The hardest admission is the last one: "You left me. I thought you didn't love me."

He's gotten used to casual hugs from Carole when he's visiting Kurt, but the feeling of his own mom's arms around him is different. It's love and hurt and acceptance and anger all wrapped up together, and it's all his. As is her penance, her whispered mantra of _you're my son. I love you more than life._ Dave knows he has his own penance to do, his own whispered apologies to offer over the coming days. He knows that he can't undo his past distance, but he can start to make up for it. Maybe coming here was a good idea. Maybe it's a beginning.

When he's talked out, and his mother is clearly cried out, she ruffles his hair before she turns and leaves the room. She stops and the door, though, and tells him "I'm glad you game, David."

"I'm glad too." He can't call her Mom yet. But he'll work on it. It's nothing new. It's been a working on things kind of year.


	6. Would I Disappoint Your Fantasies?

January finds their lunch table overrun with half-finished college applications, and stacks of view books for schools across the country. At the start of the year, Mr. Schue challenged all of the Glee seniors to at least apply to college; he's also warned them not to share their acceptances with each other because he wants to have a big college reveal party in April, something to "inspire the younger kids". Whatever. It's a long way off, and even though Kurt got the last of his applications finished and mailed off while Dave was away in Chicago over Christmas, he can't help getting caught up in everyone else's stress. While drama queen is a label the others usually reserve for he and Rachel, it's fun watching everybody else's inner diva peek out. He and Dave just sit back in their plastic seats and smile smugly, and Kurt keeps a mental tally of where everyone is applying. He's kind of surprised at the diversity of schools. The books on the table and the letterheads on the applications hint at the expected (Ohio State and Indiana), the moderately surprising (University of Chicago, Columbia), and the downright shocking (Cal Tech, University of Georgia). He supposes he'll just have to be surprised in April, along with everyone else.

Dave's been different since Chicago, but they haven't had a chance to talk about it at all. He ended up extending his trip and staying for New Year's and had only gotten back into town late Sunday afternoon. Kurt had bailed on Tuesday coffee because one of his dad's guys at the garage was out with the flu, and the rest of the week had deteriorated into a massive History project for Dave and a boatload of English reading for Kurt. But it's finally Friday. The skies are slate-gray, and the humidity (and the unfortunately dressed weather girl on the morning news) all point to massive amounts of snow starting sometime that afternoon. Dave's dad is back down to Columbus for his trial, so the plan is already in place for Dave to stay at Kurt's. There won't be dancing tonight, not with snow in the forecast, but Kurt figures they can watch all of the Queer as Folk they didn't get to over break.

That's the plan, at least, until Dave shows up at his doorstep with a tray of coffee and an envelope tucked under his arm. He's kind of pale. Kurt pulls him into the kitchen and forces him into a chair. He takes the tray and sets it on the table, and then motions at the envelope.

"What's that?"

"It's here."

"Berkeley?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"I didn't open it. I couldn't. You know, this is all your fault. I didn't want this. I mean, I did. But I told you, guys like me don't dream like this."

Oh, boy. "Dave!" Kurt uses his 'I'm in charge' voice, the one that gets Finn and Puck to stop acting like hyperactive toddlers. "Focus. It's going to be fine."

"I was going to start the afternoon by telling you that I came out to my mother, but I think I need to open that first."

Kurt watches as Dave eyes the envelope warily, like it contains anthrax or something. Hell. It holds Dave's future, so maybe it is a bit like a biohazard. He takes a breath and speaks, because he knows Dave will do the same thing when Kurt's Yale envelope arrives. "Do you want me to open it for you?"

"No. No. Let me."

Kurt watches as Dave slips his finger under the flap and unfolds the paper. He reads in silence, chews on his bottom lip. Closes his eyes and takes a breath. His words are a sigh, but Kurt doesn't even have to hear them to know.

* * *

Kurt's envelope arrives the following Tuesday. He knows right away by the size of it what it's going to say, but he still tucks it into his messenger bag as he's on his way out the door to meet Dave for coffee. Dave will want to be there when Kurt opens it. He's startled, especially at moments like this, just how much a part of his life Dave Karofsky has become. It's not unwelcome, just not what he had expected. But how much of life really was what anyone expected?

Dave is settled into their regular corner table, his own vanilla latté and Kurt's mocha already on the table. Kurt pulls his envelope out of his bag and sets it in front of Dave before he even sits down. Dave takes it in, nods, and turns his attention to the more pressing matter at hand: "Are those Vocal Adrenaline kids really that good?"

Regionals are coming up too quickly, and they're less prepared than any of them would like to be because better than half the club has been frantic with college applications. Kurt kind of feels bad about leaving the underclassmen (a handful of freshman, two sophomores who transferred in from out of state over the summer, and a junior who apparently joined because she had a crush on Puck) to carry them in practices the past couple of weeks. But the frenzy will be over by the end of the week. Kurt takes the bait, puts the envelope away for actual opening at home later, and starts talking.

It turns out that Vocal Adrenaline used to be that good. But then the mess with Dustin Goolsby and Sunshine Corazon got the school board involved. Further digging unearthed what Jesse had only hinted to Rachel about, that their stars never had to go to class, and they routinely kept talented kids around well after they should have graduated. In the end, Goolsby got fired and all the kids who'd been repeating 12th grade for five years were kicked out. The remaining kids were forced to actually go to class, and most of them ended up academically ineligible because they couldn't read. Which left the new coach of Vocal Adrenaline with barely enough students to compete. They were still good. They just weren't show-stopping good.

Neither was New Directions, if Kurt was being honest. But they were _good enough_ , and so they were going on to Nationals in Boston at the end of May. Right before graduation. Kurt hates thinking about it, about it being their last trip together or about all of them leaving. There have been times when they've driven him crazy, but they are his family just as much as his dad and Carole and Finn, and he will miss them something awful when they all go their separate ways in the fall.

* * *

Spring passes for Dave in a blur of Tuesday coffee with Kurt, extra Glee rehearsals, weekly phone calls with his mother, and mountains and mountains of homework. The AP Physics exam. Talking Kurt down when he has three AP exams in two days. The rest of his college letters trickle in through the middle part of April, and then on the 15th Mr. Schue announces that he's planning their "College Acceptance Party" for the following Friday. He's dismissed the underclassmen; the kids in front of him are his original 11, with the additions of Lauren, Sam, and Dave. Dave lingers near the edges of the crowd. He doesn't feel entirely at home with the Glee kids, but they're decent to him. He wonders sometimes if that's only because he's Kurt's friend. But then he catches moments of genuine kindness and knows that they're all just still a little wary of him. He can't fault them. This year notwithstanding, he's given them nothing to trust.

Mr. Schue is rambling, telling them how proud he is of them, and how exciting their futures are going to be. "So," he says, clapping his hands together and rocking back on his heels, "next Friday I want you all to wear a t-shirt from your chosen school. Wear something over them, so nobody sees them. But wear them all day, and be proud. And then each of you will stand up and reveal your shirt and tell us where you're going in the fall. It'll be great!"

Judging by the looks on everyone's faces, they're less than enthusiastic. But Dave knows that they'll play along for Mr. Schue because they all love him.

He gets home that afternoon and spreads his letters in front of him on the kitchen table. He reads them all through one last time before logging on to the internet to buy a t-shirt.

* * *

The Glee kids are buzzing on "College Reveal Day". Kurt spends his morning kind of wasting time in class. AP exams have come and gone, so his AP classes are all but over. His English teacher is still giving them reading, and has even assigned two last papers, but History is like a free-for-all, and they just watch movies in French. He gets most of his other homework done during school hours, though, which he has to admit is kind of nice. At lunch, he looks hard at the different colored collars peeking out from under sweaters and hoodies and tries to figure out where everyone will be landing in the fall. But he's not that good, and the colors are so generic. By the time Glee rolls around, he's full-on antsy, almost as bad as Dave can be. He jams his hands into the pockets of the hoodie he borrowed from Dave; it doesn't quite swim on him since he hasn't finished growing yet, but it's still bigger than he'd like. But he didn't have anything appropriate to wear with his jeans and t-shirt. The underclassmen are sitting in a clump, while the seniors mill around. There's a table in the corner, where Miss Pillsbury is serving up punch and cupcakes underneath a banner that reads "Congratulations, Glee Class of 2012." Kurt is too nervous and excited to take either punch or what looks like sugary deliciousness. Maybe after, when his throat isn't closed up.

Mr. Schue claps his hands to get things started. "Welcome to our first annual New Directions College Reveal Celebration! Who wants to start?"

"I think," Rachel's voice is tentative, "that we really want to do this together. I mean, we've always been there for each other. Why should this be any different?"

They all nod, and Finn stands first and takes a spot on the floor. Everyone gets up and follows him until they're all standing in a line: Finn, Quinn, Tina, Lauren, Mike, Artie, Santana, Brittany, Puck, Mercedes, Sam, Rachel, Dave, and Kurt. They turn around and shed hoodies and sweaters and over-shirts; Kurt is surprised to feel Dave's hand reaching for his, but when he glances down the line he sees that everyone is gripping tightly to whoever is next to them. He can hear Rachel counting softly _one, two, three_ , and they all turn around. Mr. Schue and Miss Pillsbury are grinning madly. The underclassmen just stare. And so Finn starts, because while everyone else in the room can see their shirts, they can't see each other's. "In the fall, I'll be attending Ohio State University." And down the line, each person picks it up. "Wellesley College. Mount Holyoke College. Smith College. University of Colorado. MIT. Indiana. Indiana. University of Texas. Spelman College. Ohio State University. Tisch School of the Arts." Dave's hand is still gripping hard at Kurt's when he tells everyone his story. "Back in the summer, Kurt challenged me to dream big. I did, and that's why I'm going to the University of California at Berkeley." Kurt smiles and squeezes Dave's hand back before taking his own deep breath. He lets his triumph ring out loud and clear. "In the fall, I'll be attending Yale University." And then they are all piling onto each other, hugging and crying and laughing. Their triumph is collective. It feels amazing. They talk over each other for the rest of the hour, sharing anecdotes about campus visits and interviews and why they picked the places they did. When the bell rings, they all run off to their last classes, futures declared on their chests in pride. Dave grabs Kurt's hand and pulls him in the opposite direction from his Calculus class.

"Dave. I have class."

"I don't, and I don't care that you do. C'mon. It's one class. Skip. Come out with me."

"Where?"

"Anywhere. I don't care. I just. I'm happy. And I want to share it with you."

"I can't. I'm still so lost."

"Please. I'm a fucking Calculus god. I'll help you with whatever you miss, and you _know_ I'll teach you better than Ms. Higgins will. And besides, you've already gotten into college."

"Dave . . ."

"Kurt. Please. Just this once."

Kurt breathes in, closes his eyes. He's always done the right thing. He should go to class. But there are a lot of things that he and Dave let go unsaid between them, and the fact that Dave is _asking_ means something. Means more than spending another hour locked in a classroom when they've just been celebrating their futures with their friends. When he opens his eyes, he says yes.

* * *

Kurt's always so uptight about school that Dave can't believe he talked him into ditching. But he did, and even though it's still a little cool outside they end up at the Dairy Queen having soft-serve cones. After, they drive around for a little while with the windows down, enjoying the sunny day. And they pointedly don't talk. Dave isn't sure what he would even say. So they just spend the afternoon enjoying each other's silent company. And Dave thinks that maybe that's all he wanted in the first place.

* * *

Boston is much less distracting than New York had been, which means that they actually rehearse instead of trying to chase their dreams. And they've been practicing their routines seven times a week since Regionals, which puts them twenty steps ahead of where they were last year. None of them are surprised when they make Showcase. Some of the groups use the same numbers for both rounds, but Mr. Schue insisted that they shake it up, so they have another trio of songs under their belts. "Just in case," he had been telling them all spring, but they knew better. He wouldn't have made them rehearse the extra material if he didn't expect them to make Showcase. He's picked two group numbers for them, both things they've done in the past, but their vocals are deeper and because Mike and Brittany have choreographed the hell out of all of their numbers all year, they look better than they ever have. Their third number, their ballad, is something the seniors have been working on in secret. They haven't even told Mr. Schue; all he knows is that they wanted to prepare their third song, and Kurt has to admit that it's perfect. So when they take the stage on the day of Showcase, they're more than ready.

Dave feels like he's going to be sick. This is worse than coming out, worse than the championship game in football. Worse than opening the Berkeley letter, in that split second before his fate was decided. He's fidgeting again, in that way that he knows makes Kurt crazy, but he can't help it. But it doesn't matter because Kurt has moved away to do some breathing thing, and it's Puck beside him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Dude. Relax."

"Easy for you to say. You've done this before."

"It's the same as every other competition. Every other big game."

"Yeah. No. It's really not." Dave closes his eyes and shakes his head, muttering more to himself than anything else. "How did I freaking end up here?"

"We've all thought that before. Look, man. I owe you an apology. When you showed up in Glee, friends with Kurt, all of that? I didn't think you were for real. Because everyone I've ever met has an angle, so kept my distance because I couldn't figure yours out. But you don't have one. You're a pretty decent guy, Karofsky, and I'm sorry for being an ass."

Dave laughs, because the shock of Puck's admission cuts through his nerves. "Thanks, Puckerman. I appreciate that."

"Good. You nervous anymore?"

"Not as much."

They are interrupted by the baritone voice of the announcer. "From William McKinley High School in Lima, Ohio, please welcome the New Directions."

Puck's hand is firm against Dave's arm. "Good. Now. Let's go out there and kill this."

They open with "Somebody to Love"; Finn and Quinn have always been right, it's a real crowd pleaser. They wait through the applause before jumping into the girls' ages-ago mash up of "Halo/Walking on Sunshine". The two upbeat numbers showcase their dancing and their personalities. Then the underclassmen exit the stage and the seniors are left, hand in hand in a line across the front of the stage. The band is gone, and the pianist plays out the opening chords of this, their last song together. Their voices rise as one. _Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes, five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear . . ._

There's no dancing. Just the piano and their voices. After all, that's really what's gotten them this far.

Mercedes has the first solo, Artie the second. They finish together, through smiles and tears. A gift to Mr. Schue, and to each other. When they're hugging and crying backstage later, Kurt thinks that it doesn't matter where they place. They've had their moment, and they've won even if the judges don't agree.

But the judges do agree.

* * *

Mr. Schue takes the whole group out to dinner, right from the competition. Puck tucks their trophy into a corner and watches it like a guard dog all night. They're still in their competition clothes and makeup, high on emotions and triumph. Dave feels lightheaded as he sits between Rachel and Mike and watches Kurt holding court at the other end of the table. He doesn't care that they're sleeping all 14 seniors in a two-room suite; he _has_ to get Kurt alone tonight. He just needs to enjoy this moment in this city, because when they get home things are going to get crazy, and _fuck_ if he isn't sure he's going to have another chance.

He feels Rachel move in closer and stage-whisper to him. "Does he know?"

"Does who know what?"

"Kurt. Does he know that you love him?"

"I don't-"

"Sure you don't. I see how you look at him."

"We talked about it. Before."

"Before what?"

"Before I knew. But there's no point. Not now."

"There's always a point, Dave. You've taken so many chances this year already. Take a chance on him. And on yourself."

Rachel's words stay with him through dessert and sparkling cider, through the raucous subway ride back to the hotel, and through the craziness of everyone running back and forth between the rooms of the suite. In the chaos of movies and music and impromptu dancing in their pajamas, Dave manages to pull Kurt aside.

"Come with me," he whispers.

"Dave, it's late."

"We're not going anywhere bad. Please. Kurt. Just come with me."

Dave pockets one of the key cards they've been leaving in a pile on the dresser, and makes sure nobody is looking before he pulls Kurt into the hallway and down to the elevators. They ride in silence, and Dave looks again to make sure Mr. Schue isn't haunting the lobby; the coast is clear, so he keeps walking. He can hear Kurt scrambling to keep up, so once he's clear of the doors he slows down and reaches out for Kurt's hand.

"Why all the secrecy? What's going on?"

"Stop. Just walk with me for a minute."

Dave leads Kurt across a busy stretch of road, through a maze of buildings, and then out onto a promenade of sorts. The air is delightfully cooler, and he leans against the railing and stares out at Boston Harbor. He's silent, gathering his thoughts. _Take a chance_ , Rachel's advice echoes. _Don't let yourself get hurt_ , his heart screams. He swallows all of it down and turns to face Kurt. "Dammit, Hummel. None of this was supposed to happen."

"None of what?"

"Any of it. We weren't supposed to be friends. I wasn't supposed to join Glee. _We_ aren't supposed to be _here_ , together. And I sure as fuck wasn't supposed to fall in love with you."

* * *

Kurt can't do anything but stare, not with his heart doing back flips in his stomach. He's kind of been expecting this, if he's being honest. But expectation doesn't make it any less shocking. He rides his feelings out, waits until his heart returns to his chest, and then he leans over and rests his forehead against Dave's.

"I don't know what to say." Mostly because he can't think of anything else _to_ say, but also because he's spent so much time ignoring his decidedly maybe-more-than-friendly feelings that he isn't sure what's real anymore.

"I don't know what's real anymore. I don't know what I feel. Because I'm not supposed to fall in love with you either, and we're leaving in August and I don't know what to do about that."

Dave has clearly been thinking this out, because he's ready with an answer. "Give me the summer. Just the summer. And in August you'll go to Yale and I'll go to Berkeley. And if this is meant to be, we'll find a way back to each other. Just. Please. _God_ , Kurt. Just give me the summer."

Dave's face is open and vulnerable in a way Kurt hasn't seen before. His heart breaks a little, and the only thing he can do is give in. His last words are a warning, a prayer, a hope against hope that things will be different. "We're going to break each other's hearts, you know."

He lets go, feels himself falling, lets himself be caught and carried by Dave's whispered promise.

"I know."


	7. Summertime Blues

Dave invites his mother to graduation, and he's a little surprised when she accepts. But it makes them both happy, and that's a good start to this thing they're working on, this being parent and child when Dave is almost too old to need a parent. After the ceremony, when she meets Kurt and hugs him, she mentions casually that _Hey, you boys should come down to Chicago for the Pride parade_.

Kurt smiles awkwardly, shuffles his feet and looks away. Dave isn't sure if it's the idea of being that far out or the fact that Dave's mom is just that accepting that's freaking Kurt out. But then he looks closer and sees something else in Kurt's eyes entirely. Something wistful. And Dave can't help but wonder if all of Kurt's bravado about leaving Lima and never coming back is crashing down around him.

* * *

The only thing that's really different about dating Dave is that Kurt's dad starts enforcing the door-open-all-the-time rule, which is a giant bucket of nonsense because Kurt and Finn look out for each other; they hatch a plan whereby Dave and Kurt get Kurt's room on Tuesdays from 4-6, and Finn has Rachel over on Wednesdays between noon and 2. Kurt doesn't feel exactly classy, sneaking around in his own house behind his dad's back, but they don't really have a lot of options. Kurt isn't allowed over to Dave's house because Mr. Karofsky is never home to enforce an open-door rule, and he refuses to make out in either of their cars. Dave questions him about that one Friday night when they're both a little flushed and more than a little disheveled, and seriously pushing the boundaries of how far Kurt's door actually has to be open. Kurt brushes his hair out of his eyes and pulls ineffectually at his shirt where it's twisted around his torso before he answers.

"I mean, it's not like we're going to get pregnant or anything, but something about the cars smacks of the prom queen giving it up to the football star on prom night."

Dave just laughs at him. "Dude. Your memory isn't that short. You _were_ the prom queen and I _was_ a football star."

Kurt throws a pillow at him, and then leans over and kisses him some more.

* * *

Dave can tell that Kurt would really like to spend the summer just sort of wrapped up in each other, especially as July turns to August and they each start receiving thick packets of forms and roommate matches and details about optional early orientation trips from their respective schools. Dave tears into his right away, reading and re-reading late into the night and leaving the assorted brochures and guidebooks scattered around his room. Kurt stacks his neatly in the corner of his desk. Dave isn't sure if he even looks at them until they're out with Tina and Mike one night talking about their roommates. Kurt joins in then, saying that he's emailed with them both, and how it might be awkward for him because both of the other guys went to prep school together. "Andover," he says around a bite of pizza, trying to be casual but Dave can hear the concern in the edges of his voice.

Later, when they're back at Dave's empty house even though they told Kurt's dad that they were going to a really late movie, Kurt's hands are fast and forward, grabbing at the boundaries of Dave's clothes and leaving tracks of electricity against Dave's skin. Dave pulls away because, _shit_ , it feels really good but he's not ready for any of what Kurt's fierceness is implying, and he knows that if Kurt really thought about it he wouldn't be so eager either. He stops Kurt first with his voice, and he sees Kurt shut down. That hurts, because once they became friends, Kurt has never given Dave the Stare of Death. So Dave lets his guard down, feels his face flush and his eyes fill, and when he looks at Kurt he's showing him _you're scaring me_ and _I'm not ready for this_ and _please, just talk to me._ He almost sighs with relief when Kurt crumples to sit on the edge of Dave's bed. Dave sits next to him and pulls Kurt into his chest. "You're freaking out about school."

"I'm freaking out about leaving home. There's a difference."

"But I thought . . ."

"The whole situation is rich with irony, isn't it? I mean, I've dreamt about nothing but leaving Lima but now that it's almost time I'm terrified."

"Of what?"

"Of leaving. My dad, my friends. You."

"But we're all leaving. Except for your dad. And you'll be really close to Artie and Quinn, and even closer to Lauren and Tina. It's a bus ride, or a train trip. Or a couple of hours in the car if you get to take the Navigator." At Kurt's nod, Dave continues. "Look, you're going to make your own kinds of friends there, but you can keep those old connections. Your dad and Carole are always a phone call away. And you won't be able to get rid of me that easily."

"But it's safe here. I know what to expect, even if it's slushies and hate. I don't know what it's going to be like out there."

Dave feels funny, being on the giving side of the advice thing. But he's learned a lot from Kurt, and about Kurt, and he suddenly realizes that he's the best person to be giving the advice right now. "We never know what it's going to be like out there. I mean, yeah, Lima has been our reality. But there are thousands of realities out there. Some of them are like Lima, and some of them are like San Francisco, but most of them are somewhere in the middle. Think of Yale like a tiny little United States. Sure, there will be pockets that are like Lima. But there will also be pockets that are like San Francisco, and most of the rest will be somewhere in the middle. You'll find your place there, Kurt. You will. Just give it a chance. Don't hide yourself because you're scared."

"You make it sound so easy."

"That's my line."

Kurt laughs then, but Dave can hear how forced it is. He lets it go, then, because if he tells Kurt that it will be easy, he'll be lying.

* * *

The calendar by Kurt's desk is covered with writing for the last two weeks of August. Finn and Sam are going to be the first to leave, then Puck, Brittany and Santana, and Mike. Mercedes, then Rachel. Tina is going out early for some minority student orientation, which she thinks is stupid but her parents are making her do. Quinn and Lauren are also going early because their schools offer small-group freshman trips in the week before Orientation. Dave thinks that Kurt should go on the one Yale offers, but Kurt doesn't like camping so he passes on it. Instead, he and his dad are going to take their time on the drive out and spend some time together. Carole claimed she couldn't get the time off of work, but Kurt knows that she's really just giving Kurt and his dad what neither of them can find the words to ask for. Dave will be the last to leave, alone, on a flight from Columbus to San Francisco the Saturday before Labor Day. Kurt knows that Mr. Karofsky wants to go too, but Dave is adamant. He wants to take that step on his own.

Kurt's proud of him, and a little sad. And he thinks that maybe he's not as strong as he always thought he was, because he really wants his dad with him on this journey.

Or maybe, he realizes as an afterthought, it's just that Dave is stronger than either of them ever imagined.

He and Dave have spent the summer floating into and out of the orbits of the other Glee kids as circumstances allow; sometimes it's the whole crowd of them at the Dairy Queen or in a public park, but more often it's whoever is free on a given night when it's too hot and too crowded at Kurt's house and they're both a little afraid to be alone together. But this last night before Finn and Sam head off to Columbus is for all of them. Quinn's mom is letting them have a cookout, and Rachel even convinced them to let her invite Mr. Schue. Kurt tried to talk her out of it. They all did really, because hello? Teacher? Awkward. It turns out fine, though, because Mr. Schue just stops by to say goodbye to everyone, and he's gone before the burgers are even off the grill. And then it's just their Glee family and food and music, and the fourteen of them in a pile in the grass looking up at the stars after it gets dark. It's late and they're all a little teary-eyed from memories when Mrs. Fabray calls out to tell them that it's time to clear out, but Rachel stops them and starts handing out tissue-wrapped bundles.

"Take these with you. Don't open them. Not until you're feeling lonely or sad or overwhelmed. Because we all will at some point. These will help you remember where you came from and that you have a little family that loves you."

It's typical Rachel, but it's a really nice gesture all the same. There are more hugs and more tears, and then Kurt drives home because he didn't have any of the illegal beer Puck brought, and also so Finn and Rachel can sit close in the backseat. He lets Dave hold his hand across the gearshift, and they kiss goodnight on the sidewalk. Kurt can feel Dave's eyes on him as he crosses the yard and slips into the house. Only after he turns the deadbolt on the front door does he hear Dave's Jeep start up and pull away from the curb.

This night, the summer doesn't feel anywhere near long enough.

* * *

Kurt's room has deteriorated into chaos. Dave's watched him pack and re-pack clothes, books, music and memorabilia nearly every day for the past week, and it's starting to freak him out. Finally, the day before Kurt leaves, Dave takes his hand and sits him down on the floor in the middle of boxes and bags and hangers. He can feel the rapid-fire of Kurt's pulse as he whispers "calm down" just before kissing him.

"Like that's supposed to make me calm?" Kurt finally pulls away after what turns out to be a much longer kiss than Dave had anticipated.

"No. It was supposed to be a distraction. You're going crazy and it's starting to make _me_ crazy. Just . . . I dunno. Just slow down. Please."

"I just. I don't know what to take with me."

"Okay. Start at the beginning. Are you coming home for fall break?"

Kurt shakes his head, and Dave knows there are about 50 reasons why not. "Not till Thanksgiving."

"So. You'll need winter clothes before Thanksgiving, but you don't need to bring everything with you now. Take things you can layer. Pack a box with your winter coat and heavy boots and things like that, and then have your dad or Carole mail it out at the beginning of October." Dave waits while Kurt mulls that over and nods before he continues. "Do you really need _all_ of those books?"

"I like to read."

"Duh. But. You don't need all of them. Pick the ones you like the _best_ , the ones that make you feel a certain way. Happy, right? That's what you're looking for? Something you can pick up when you're feeling down?"

"You know me too well." Kurt looks away, and Dave feels bad for picking out Kurt's vulnerabilities like that. He gives Kurt a moment, lets his hands float over the mess of books on the floor. He picks out 4, a series by an author Kurt turned him on to, and sets them aside. "These are a must. How many times have you read them?"

"Too many. You're really good at this. What else?"

Dave pulls out a few more. "These. Then, take the rest and put them in piles. Number them as to how important they are to you, and if you really need them or want them, all you have to do is call home and say 'send me the books in the stack numbered 1' and your dad will know exactly."

"Okay. Now, what about my DVDs?"

Kurt's already told Dave that his two roommates want to share the double room of their suite, so Kurt will get the single. They'll have a common room area and bathroom, too, which makes Dave jealous. Even though he'll also be in a suite, he's in a double and there's just a giant floor bathroom. That's going to suck. But whatever. He'll be able to move off campus after freshman year, while Kurt will be living in his dorm ("Residential College", Kurt keeps correcting him) for all four years.

"Bang for your space. Boxed sets are good. So you'll want QAF and Grey's Anatomy and Criminal Minds. Take a few comedies, because they're good for watching with a group, and then a couple of things you can cry to when you're sad." At Kurt's surprised look, Dave just laughs. "Seriously, Kurt. How can you even think after all of this that I don't know you?"

"Because I feel like _I_ don't know me anymore."

And there it is. It's what Dave's been waiting for all summer, what he knows Kurt has been picking around the edges of with all of his fears about leaving home and not knowing how to fit himself into his new world. But knowing it's been coming and knowing what to say are two completely different things. He wants to just pull Kurt over to the bed so they can lose themselves in each other for a while, but that wouldn't help anything. Instead, he just starts talking.

"I don't know who I am, either. That's the whole point. We're not supposed to know anymore. We're supposed to go to college and start to figure it out."

"You're not scared, though."

"I am. But I think that we're having really different experiences with this whole thing. Do you remember how scared I was to come out?"

"Yeah."

"Compared to that, compared to the potential of losing my friends and my family, leaving home is nothing. Compared to baring my soul in front of the entire school? I'm not going to say that any of this is easy, because it's not. But I'm not terrified. I'm . . . nervously excited."

"And what about me?"

Dave takes Kurt's hand, and feels tenderness and sadness and _love_ , and he wonders if he really screwed things up by asking Kurt for the summer because watching him leave tomorrow is going to hurt worse than anything. His words, when he finds them, are soft. "You're scared. You're scared of not fitting in, not being good enough, of being _too much_. Am I right?"

"Yeah."

"Just be you. Be the best Kurt Hummel you can be at any moment. Be _honest_. But don't hide away because you're scared. Because then you lose out, and so will everyone else."

"It feels weird."

"What does?"

"Being sad about leaving."

"Why is that weird?" Because really, Dave doesn't get it at all.

"I just never thought I'd feel this way. I thought I'd be so happy to be leaving that I'd drive off and never look back."

"Funny, that. You're sad because you're leaving the people you love. It's normal."

"Are you sad? That I'm leaving."

"Devastated." Dave half means it as a joke to lighten the seriousness of their talk, but the teasing in his voice falls flat and when Kurt looks at him, all Dave can do is cry. It's Kurt's turn to hold him, then, and when Mr. Hummel peeks around the door to call them to dinner he finds them leaning shoulder to shoulder in the silence and the mess, with tearstained cheeks and a box of tissues between them.

* * *

Kurt loads the last box into the back of the Navigator and swallows around the butterflies having a party in his stomach. Dave came for breakfast, which was sweet, and Kurt is glad that his dad and Carole are at the front of the car saying their own goodbyes so that Kurt can have a few minutes with Dave. He isn't sure what to say, so he leans back against the bumper and just looks at this boy, this unlikely friend and even more unlikely boyfriend. The summer's over. They're both leaving. And he doesn't know what to do with any of it.

"Don't wait." Dave's voice is hoarse.

"What?"

"I asked you to give me the summer, and you did. And I love you. I'll always love you. But we can't go into this year being attached. We just can't."

"I don't understand." Maybe it's the early hour. Kurt feels like he's only party to half a conversation.

"Don't wait for me, and I won't wait for you. If this is going to work, we have to _go_. We have to be in the world and live it. And if we're meant to be together, we'll find our way back."

"You're breaking up with me." Kurt knew this was coming. He knew in Boston when they started this. It was the deal, the concession Dave made because Kurt hadn't wanted to start this at all. But he'd given in, and he'd fallen hard, and now he was going to be wrecked. Which was exactly why he'd fought against it in the first place.

"No."

"Yes. You are."

"I love you."

"I love you, too." _More than you'll ever know._

"But it's not fair to tie each other down. We're 18. If we're still meant to be together, it will happen. But we _have_ to live our lives first. So please, Kurt. Don't wait for me. And I won't wait for you."

Kurt leans his head back against the cool glass of the rear window. He could fight this, but he knows Dave is crazy-stubborn and he doesn't stand a chance. He feels like his heart is breaking, but also like maybe that's okay, like this is the way things are supposed to be. He sighs in not-quite-acceptance before he stands up and kisses Dave soft and slow, like a gift and a goodbye all at the same time. When he pulls away, he squeezes Dave's hand and tells him "Just because we're not dating doesn't mean you can get away without calling and texting. Because I know where you live, Dave Karofsky."

"And I know where you live, Kurt Hummel."

Kurt turns and walks around to the passenger door, climbs up next to his dad, and leans out the open window for an awkward wave. He watches Carole console Dave. When his dad asks if everything is all right, Kurt nods silently. He doesn't cry until they cross the state line into Pennsylvania.


	8. Fast Cars

Dave knew he'd made a terrible mistake as soon as the words left his mouth, but it was too late to take them back. Instead, he finished what he'd promised to Kurt that night by the harbor in Boston. He broke his own heart.

He felt Carole's arms around his as the car pulled away, and he cried for what he had lost. For what he had pushed away, what he had let go. Carole took him to the kitchen and fed him more toast and a second cup of coffee, but he was silent and numb. When he got home, he moved through the empty house like a ghost as he did laundry and packed and re-packed his bags for school. He ate a silent dinner with his father, and because he had nowhere else to be he sat on the couch and pretended to be interested in the Indians game. When his dad commented on his silence, Dave saw the opening. He could have said anything, could have started with _I'm in love with Kurt and he left today_ and finished with _I'm a fucking idiot, I should have fought harder for him and for us and for myself._ But all of his words that meant anything were gone; he had given them to Kurt that morning. So he sat on the couch with his dad and told him nothing.

* * *

Nothing is all right. Kurt knows he's scaring his dad, so he isn't surprised when he pulls the car into a service plaza on the outskirts of Pittsburgh and parks at the edge of the lot under some trees. His dad's voice is gentleness overlaid with mild panic when he tells Kurt to just let him know when it's okay to drive again, and Kurt thinks that maybe he hasn't loved his dad more since the night he came out.

They sit with the windows open, and Kurt marvels at how different Pennsylvania feels from Ohio, even as tears just keep running down his cheeks. He keeps swiping at them ineffectually, and it isn't until his dad wets a paper towel in the half-melted ice from the cooler behind Kurt's seat and presses it awkwardly into Kurt's hand that he's able to manage some semblance of self-control. When all the cold has seeped out of the cloth and into his skin, and he's breathing easier and his heart feels incrementally less heavy, he nods. His dad starts the car and pulls out of the lot, and wonders aloud whether Kurt would like to talk about it. Kurt thinks for a few minutes about the past two years and all the secrets he still keeps, for himself and for Dave. He closes his eyes against the motion of the car in a moment of decision. Then he opens them, and as the tires eat up miles of empty road, Kurt tells his dad everything.


	9. Seasons Change Love is Not a Victory March Kurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I've taken liberties with Yale University because I didn't go there, so I can't speak with accuracy about anything relating to it. And the Band Played On: Politics, People, and the AIDS Epidemic is perhaps the most difinitive writing on the early years of the AIDS crisis and the gay community's response to it. Paul Monette won a National Book Award for his autobiography Becoming a Man: Half a Life Story. He also wrote Borrowed Time: An AIDS Memoir and Last Watch of the Night. In this part, Kurt sings "Faithfully" by Journey, "Defying Gravity" from Wicked, and "If You Leave" by OMD.

School is nothing like Kurt expects; it is better, and worse, and while he spends most days feeling like he is just barely muddling through, there have been a few very brief and bright moments of awesome.

Like today. His English Comp professor handed back their first assignments, and to his had _solid effort_ scribbled on the top next to a B+. He hadn't made a fool of himself in French class. And now he's done with Bio lab. He loves his walk home through the orange and red of a New England fall; all he hears is the crunch of the leaves under his feet, and it is delicious. Until he trudges up three flights of stairs to the suite he shares with Tyler and Jake, the Andover friends, and hears the decided chaos of drunken Scrabble or strip poker or something coming from the common room. Ugh.

The roommates are nice enough. Meaning that they aren't jerks to his face, and they didn't freak out about him being gay. But that's where the nice ends. There are a whole slew of Andover kids at Yale, and three others among the other freshman in Calhoun College. Tyler and Jake have taken to hosting as many of them as they can for Thursday night parties. And they always, _always_ start early. Like mid-afternoon early, which is why they are halfway to dead drunk at not quite 5 in the afternoon.

These are the nights when Kurt both dreads and loves being a little bit invisible.

He slips into the common room and through to his room, where he dumps his jacket and backpack and the mail he picked up in the entryway. He has a package from Carole, who sends them almost weekly, and a letter from his dad. And a postcard from Dave. This one is of the Golden Gate Bridge, and the only thing on the back is _miss you_ in Dave's messy scrawl. Kurt tacks it up at the edge of his corkboard with the two others that have come since Dave got to Berkeley and tries not to miss him too much. Then he flops down on his neatly made bed and closes his eyes for a power nap before dinner.

Meals are the worst.

Kurt is friendly, and has some casual acquaintances from his classes and the GLBT students group. But he doesn't play sports, and he didn't get tapped for an a cappella group even though he'd been called back for three of them. It sometimes feels like every freshman he meets has some kind of a connection, however tenuous, to someone else at Yale. Kurt has nobody. So he sits in silence at every meal. If he is avoiding his suite-mates, like tonight, he sometimes brings a book with him. But most days, he finishes his meal as quickly as he can and then escapes somewhere. Anywhere.

Tonight he decides on the common room because of the piano. Most nights there are people all over, lounging and pretending to study. But very few people have classes on Fridays; they find other ways to spend their Thursday nights, and leave the common room (and its piano) in calming quiet. He sits and positions the bench for comfort before picking out the opening chords of "Come On Get Happy." It's what he sang for his a cappella callbacks; he felt like it fit the style of most of the groups on campus and it highlighted what he considered to be the remarkable things about his voice. And every time he sings it now he feels like Rachel is there with him, holding his hand and holding him up in her own way. He needs that more than he wants to admit.

He doesn't belt like he would if he were performing. Instead he just lets the lyrics kind of fall out of his mouth. When he is done, he's breathing a little easier against the stress of the day and feels like some Broadway, so he moves from "Maybe This Time" through "It's De-Lovely" into "Seasons of Love." When the last notes drift into the empty room, he feels motion behind him before he hears the words.

"You're really good."

He turns and sees a girl leaning in the doorway. She is about his height; spiky copper hair, bright but tired green eyes. Fitted button down and an unzipped fleece vest over boot-cut jeans and Docs as old and worn as Kurt's own. An also-worn LL Bean backpack covered in marker scribbles dangles from one hand.

"I'm sorry. There's usually nobody around on Thursday nights. I hope I didn't disturb you."

"No. No. That was. Amazing. Like I said, you're really good."

Kurt blushes at that, and smiles. "Thank you. I'm a little out of practice."

"Are you in any of the groups?"

Kurt shakes his head, and admits to her what he hadn't been able to admit to anyone except his dad. "Three callbacks, but no tap this year."

"Their loss."

"I guess."

The silence turns awkward for barely a moment before the girl moves into the room and asks if he take requests.

"That depends. After three years of show choir, I refuse to sing anything from an '80's power band. But other than that? Why not." He motions with his head to the span of empty bench on his left. "Would you like to sit?"

"Sure."

She drops next to him, looking like she is shedding an incredible weight. Kurt totally gets that, because that's what his Yale feels like every day. "Do you live here? I haven't seen you before." _But I don't look too closely._

"4th floor. You?"

"3rd. I'm Kurt." He holds his hand out, and she takes it firmly.

"Sara."

"Nice to meet you, Sara."

"I think I've seen you. In the dining hall. You read a lot."

"Yeah."

"Man of few words."

"Huh? Oh. No. Not usually. This is just. Well." He isn't sure what to say, doesn't want to scare this clearly kind girl away. Because how do you tell a stranger what it feels like to be lonely and overwhelmed and more homesick than you ever thought was possible? And, oh yeah, missing the guy who wasn't even your boyfriend anymore.

"Where are you from, Kurt from the 3rd floor?"

"Ohio. Lima, Ohio."

He watches her nod at him, watches her eyes take in his own jeans and Docs and Henley. She looks like she is thinking really hard about something.

"I'm from Pittsburgh."

"We're kind of neighbors, then." That makes her laugh, which makes Kurt feel good. He hasn't felt good in a while. He pauses, gathers his words. It has been so long since he's had to work at making friends that it feels weird. "Do you. Um. Have friends? Here, I mean."

"If you don't count my roommates, my French partner who thinks I'm an idiot, or my lab partner in Chem? No. Not really. You?"

Her honesty and slight sarcasm break something inside of him, and he has nothing to hide behind. "No." Her eyes sparkle, so he keeps talking. "My roommates arrived here with plenty of friends. They're all up in our common room as we speak."

"Oh. You're the g-uh-"

"The what?"

"The 'gay guy who lives with Tyler and Jake.'" The finger quotes tell Kurt that the words aren't hers. A definite plus in her column.

Kurt's smile is tight. "I am gay, and I do live with Tyler and Jake. So yes. Are your roommates the two blonde girls with expensive highlights and an overabundance of Abercrombie?"

"Sasha and Anna."

"Well. Someone in Res Life had fun with the three of you, didn't they?"

The laugh that comes barking out of Sara's mouth is so unexpected that Kurt can't do anything but laugh right along with her. But when they both stop laughing, she looks at him seriously. Her voice goes quiet.

"There are days when I think I might hate it here."

Kurt had heard others in his classes talking about these kinds of soul bearing conversations, but he never expected that he'd have one of his own. "Sometimes I think I might hate it here, too," he finally manages to choke out. He can't handle the implications of his admission, so he starts playing again, an old Chopin piece he'd played for a recital back in middle school. As soon as he can, he excuses himself, but only after telling Sara that he'll be in the dining hall between 7 and 7:30 the next morning for breakfast, if she wants to join him.

* * *

In the second week of October, Kurt's Comp professor holds him after class. He pulls Kurt's most recent assignment out of his briefcase. It was a fiction assignment requiring one to two pages of writing to complete a prompt. It was different from anything Kurt had ever done. He'd never written fiction, but it had been surprisingly easy. And fun.

"This is very good work, Kurt. Very good." Professor Andrews turns the paper over, and Kurt blushes without realizing it. There is a large red A+ in the top corner. "Have you done a lot of creative writing?"

"None."

"Hm. And you're an English major?"

"Planning on it. And French."

"Well. I'm teaching a Freshman-only section of Intro to Creative Writing next semester, and I think you should take it. I would love to have you in the class."

Kurt blinks, then stammers. "Can I, um. Think about it? If I'm double majoring, I don't have a lot of room. But." He stops for a minute to let the sudden brilliant knowledge that he really _doesn't_ want to major in French drift across his mind. "But I'm not completely sure of anything right now."

"That's fine. I'll just say this. Think about it, and if you decide to try it I'll make sure you get in."

"Thank you."

Kurt moves to hand his essay back, but Professor Andrews waves his hand. "Keep it. Everyone else will get theirs back on Thursday anyway."

"Thanks." Kurt shoulders his backpack and is halfway to the door when Andrews' voice catches up with him.

"And Kurt?"

"Yes?"

"Don't let this place get you down. You can beat it."

Kurt is settling into his next class before he realizes that someone has actually seen him for the first time since he's been at Yale.

* * *

He eats breakfast with Sara every morning, because they are both lonely and he needs to cultivate at least one friendship. She is a nice girl, quietly brilliant and funny in a way he appreciates. She is a good starter friend, and Kurt knows that if he really lets her in, she has the potential to be a great friend. But he isn't ready for that yet. Even so, he plays requests for her on Thursday nights in the common room and she leaves silly notes for him on the whiteboard outside of his suite. He helps her with her French homework and when he comes down with a cold over Halloween she brings him dinner in a to-go box and a cup of tea with honey.

And then she takes him to Open Mic.

He wants to kill her. She shows up at his door at 8 on a November Friday when he has a million pounds of work to complete before Monday and no time to spare for anything, much less leaving his room. But she demands, and paws through his clothes for something other than the old sweatpants and t-shirt he is wearing or the variations on jeans and Henleys that are all he has left clean after a week with no time to do laundry, either. She finally yelps in triumph, and smiles as he gives in and dresses in black pants and his tight black t-shirt. She hustles him out the door even as he is still struggling into his jacket, and talks his ear off all the way across campus to the little underground snack area in the student union. The place is packed when they get there, but she finds seats with ease.

"What are we doing?" He has to speak up to be heard over the chaos of hundreds of voices.

"You're playing tonight."

No. Shit, no. "No I'm not."

"Yes. You are. Three songs. Any three you want. And you should tell some of your funny stories." He'd been regaling her with tales of Mr. Schue ("All these Journey songs!) and Babygate, Brittany's non sequitors and Coach Sylvester's crazy.

"No. I'm not singing. And I'm definitely not telling stories."

"Why not? It'll be fun. And besides, I already put you on the list. So you couldn't back out." As if she has known all along that he would want to do exactly that. He is absent a spectacularly witty retort, so he just slumps a little in his seat and mutters at her. "You suck."

"Love you, too."

The thing about Open Mic, which Student Activities holds once a month, is that it can either be incredibly good or "Run, Joey, Run" horrible. This night is shaping up to be pretty decent. A handful of poets, a girl with a guitar, a guy on piano, a guy with a guitar, and another poet. And then Kurt is taking the pseudo-stage with shaking hands. Typical. He sits, and takes a breath to still his nerves. And then he opens his eyes and looks out into the crowd. He thinks about Sara's advice to tell stories, so he just starts talking.

"I'm a member of the reigning National Champion show choir." At the scattered giggles, he smiles and continues. "Basically, there are two forms of entertainment in Western Ohio, where I grew up. You either play football or you become a loser. Or, in my case, you play football _and_ become a loser. But that's another story for another time. My choir director has an unfortunate affinity for vests and Journey songs. So this is for Mr. Schuester, wherever he may be tonight." _Highway run into the midnight sun. Wheels go 'round and 'round, you're on my mind . . ._

Kurt loves the way that piano can turn anything into a ballad, so he rides the waves of memory with the lilting of the melody. The applause when he finishes shocks him, and his brain scrambles to pick a second song. "You know that girl from your high school who was always a little annoying and liked to be in charge of everything?" At chuckles from the audience, Kurt forges forward. "Mine is named Rachel. To quote our friend Puck, she 'makes me want to light myself on fire, but she can sing'. Rachel is a diva and a drama queen, but she is also a very loyal and kind friend. So this is for Rachel, who should be taking New York by storm." _Something has changed within me, something is not the same. I'm through with playing by the rules of someone else's game . . ._

He hits the high F, which is becoming more and more difficult. The applause is generous. He doesn't even need to think about his third song. "My boyfriend broke up with me the morning I left for Yale. It wasn't like I wasn't expecting it. We'd had this crazy deal, and we're both stubborn like nothing you've ever seen. Even so, it's still terribly cliché, and we haven't talked at all since then. He just keeps sending me these postcards with two or three word phrases on the backs. The last one said _it's raining again._ What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?" That scores a genuine and collective laugh from the audience, like they know _exactly_ what he is talking about. Like they'd been there, crying in a Pennsylvania parking lot because you're an idiot and the boy you love just broke your heart all because _you freaking told him to_. "Anyway, this is for Dave. I just don't know for what." The song is an older one, learned and loved from hours of watching his mom's John Hughes movies on video in the months before she died. It was their thing on Saturdays, and over time he's replaced the worn and useless VHS tapes with DVD copies. There are others he likes better, but the song from the end of "Pretty in Pink" has always stuck with him. _If you leave, don't leave now. Please don't take my heart away. Promise me just one more night; then we'll go our separate ways . . ._

As he sings, he can hear a couple of voices singing faintly with him. Clearly John Hughes' appeal escaped out of 1987 for more kids than just him. When more applause greets him at the end, he stands and smiles, and blurts before he thinks about it. "Thank you. I've been Kurt Hummel, and I take requests on Thursday nights in the Calhoun common room." He regrets it as soon as he does it, but he can't take it back.

Sara greets him with a hug and a smile that asks _aren't you glad I made you do that_? He nods at her and takes his seat for some spoken word and a guy who played a mean saxophone and a final poet. Then they get swept up in the crush of bodies leaving, and it isn't until they are halfway across the Quad, Sara's hand clasped tight in his, that he hears someone calling his name. When he stops and turns, he is looking into Professor Andrews' eyes. Oh. Hell, no. He recognizes that look, that mildly intrigued _I've never seen you before_ kind of look.

"You're very talented, Kurt. As a singer and as a storyteller. Have you thought any more about my class next semester?"

Kurt can't find his words, so he is thankful when Sara moves in, holding out her hand to Andrews. "I'm Sara, I'm Kurt's friend. You're one of Kurt's professors?"

"John Andrews. I teach in the English department. I'm trying to get Kurt to take my creative writing class next semester."

Sara turns to him. "You should. You'd be good at it."

It takes Kurt's brain that long to catch on, to realize that while he'd gone for so long always being _that gay kid_ , in his new setting he doesn't automatically read as gay. And since his interactions with Andrews have been limited to his writing and that one conversation about the class, there has been no reason for Andrews to assume anything about Kurt's sexuality at all. And now his professor, his young and handsome and apparently _gay_ professor is looking at him differently.

He can't let it continue.

He summons his best inner diva. "Professor, could you please stop looking at me like I'm a slice of chocolate cake?"

Andrews throws his head back and laughs before sobering up and toning his expression down.

"John, please. And I didn't mean- oh. I'm sorry, Kurt. I was just thinking that there's so much more to you than what shows in class. I didn't mean to imply anything else." He holds up his left hand, indicating the slim silver band on his ring finger. "My husband and I were married over the summer."

Kurt is thankful it is pretty dark, because he is blushing an embarrassed red from his chest to his hair. "Now I'm totally mortified."

"No. Please don't be. I should be the one apologizing. I made you uncomfortable, and that's unacceptable on my part. But I did want to tell you that you're very talented. And you should show more of the you who was on that stage tonight."

"How do you-. Never mind."

"How do I what?"

"Nothing." Kurt glances sideways at Sara and shuffles a little bit like he is cold even though he has enough adrenaline coursing through him to heat a small igloo.

Andr- _John_ \- isn't stupid. He catches Kurt's nervousness and smiles in the hazy lamplight. "Look. I'd love to talk with you more about next semester. Why don't you shoot me an email and we can set up a meeting."

"I will."

"Good." John turns and shakes Sara's hand again. "It was nice meeting you, Sara. You two have a good rest of your night."

When he is gone, Sara turns to Kurt and starts gushing. "He's _cute._ "

Kurt snorts. "He's a professor and he's married and just no."

"Are you going to take his class?"

"I don't know." But he does know. He is so taking the class.

* * *

He lets John buy him a mocha at the campus coffee shop, and they sit for the better part of Monday afternoon talking about what Kurt can expect as an English major, and his work-study job shelving books in the campus library, and what kinds of books he likes to read when he's not doing schoolwork. That thought causes Kurt to almost snort mocha out of his nose, because this close to winter break there isn't a moment when he _isn't_ doing schoolwork. But he admits that he's been slowly working his way through the Tales of the City books, _because the ex boyfriend recommended them_ he says, and doesn't add that they make him sad for what he's missing, but happy for Dave for chasing his dream.

"Do you read a lot of non-fiction?"

John is fiddling with his plastic coffee stirrer, which Kurt finds distracting. He nods, and offers "I like queer history, and books about social movements and politics."

They are the kinds of books that made him aware in high school, but have the potential to make him appear a little pretentious here, even if he genuinely likes reading them. But he says it anyway, because he doesn't think that John cares about things like that.

John nods in agreement. "I'm assuming that you're read And the Band Played On?"

"Yes." Kurt remembers, then, being 14 or 15 and on the bare cusp of _really_ knowing himself, and how learning about AIDS and community and activism seemed a safe way to be connected to the gay community.

"Have you read any Paul Monette?"

Kurt doesn't know the name, and shakes his head. John lets out a humming noise and nods. "You should. I have all of his books. If you'd like, I can lend them to you. He writes beautifully about growing up gay in a small town, about losing a partner in the early years of the epidemic, about facing mortality and the ties of community."

"That would be great."

The coffee shop empties as the afternoon wears on, and Kurt has to tear himself away because he has _got_ to get some work done, even though this conversation with this man is so much more interesting. As he's packing up, shrugging on his coat and wrapping his favorite gray cabled scarf around his neck, John leans over and speaks softly to him.

"Are you going home for Thanksgiving?"

Kurt knows it's a simple question, but he chokes on his answer because it is so much more complicated than that. It involves so much work and such a long drive for such a short time, and not enough money for a plane ticket, and _Christmas is so close_. But he'd had the conversation with his dad the day before, and everyone sadly agreed that it would be better to see him relaxed at Christmas than stressed for three days of Thanksgiving.

"I'm staying here."

"Well. Thomas and I, we have a kind of orphan's dinner on Thanksgiving, for students of ours who don't go home for the holiday. Think about it, and drop me an email if you'd like to attend, and I'll forward you the information."

Kurt feels included, and it feels nice, so he smiles and says yes.

* * *

Thanksgiving is snowy and cold, and Kurt spends a lazy morning wrapped in his blankets with a big mug of hot chocolate and the Macy's Parade. He calls home around noon, to catch everyone before they sit down to dinner; he has a nice chat with Carole, and exchanges pleasantries with Finn, and then spends the better part of an hour talking with his dad. It's their first holiday apart, and Kurt knows that they're both having an incredibly hard time, even though neither of them wants to admit it. In the end, his dad wishes him well and tells Kurt he's glad he's got somewhere to go for dinner, and then Carole is prying the phone away in favor of turkey and sweet potato casserole. Kurt blinks around expected tears at the sound of the dial tone in his ear, but he can't afford to linger in sadness. He has to get ready.

He decides on his vintage pants and vest, and picks a blue-gray tie for a hint of color against his black button-down. The snow isn't really accumulating, so he should be okay with his Docs. His black pea coat and his favorite scarf and he's set to go. It isn't until he's standing on John and Thomas' doorstep that he realizes he's forgotten to bring anything.

He makes his apologies to the man who opens the door, who introduces himself as Thomas and takes Kurt in for a moment before hollering back into the house.

"John! I found one of yours!" And then John is there, ushering him into the entryway and taking his coat and backpack, and then sweeping him through a crowd of students and into the kitchen. From what Kurt can tell, the kitchen group is a little more subdued than the living room group, and he realizes that he has no idea what Thomas does, or who any of the other students are. He needs a moment to get his legs under him, because he feels so completely dwarfed by all of this, so he tucks himself into a pocket of space between the end of the kitchen counter and the bar area set up on the table. Drinks in front of him, cheese tray to his left. Prime observing position. He knows that he'll feel better with a drink in his hand, so he pours himself a Diet Coke with lots of ice in a red plastic cup, and he sees that everyone else has marked their cups with names or little drawings. He looks around, and is starting to think that he'll just know the cup is his because it's bare when there's a body beside him and a Sharpie being pressed into his hand.

"Here. You can use this."

"Thanks." Kurt looks then at the boy (man?) next to him. Definitely more boy, but the ease that is evident in his body tells Kurt that this boy is not a freshman. He uncaps the Sharpie with his teeth and is delicately penning his name on the side of the cup when the boy starts talking.

"Where did John steal you from?"

"Excuse me?"

"He finds us as freshman. Either in Lit or Comp. And then he poaches us away from whatever we thought we were going to major in and makes us slaves to the English department."

"Oh." And _now_ things feel all kinds of awkward. "Um. I _am_ an English major."

"With a double major in?"

"French."

"And now?"

"Now, probably not a double major in French?" Kurt cocks his head to the side and lets his eyes go soft, and feels his body relax into the smile he gets from the other boy.

"Then John's work is done, and you're one of us now."

"One of what?"

The boy sweeps his arm out, gesturing to the half-dozen students in the kitchen. "John's chosen few. His little band of misfits. Why don't I introduce you to everyone else? I'm Toby."

"Kurt."

"Nice to meet you, Kurt. And welcome."

Kurt lets himself be led across the kitchen, Toby's hand gentle against his wrist where it's poking out under the cuff of his shirt.

"Hey, y'all. This is Kurt. He's the newbie." Kurt waggles his fingers in an awkward wave and wants to die right on the spot, but he's greeted with smiles. Genuine ones, welcoming ones. There are four boys and two girls, and Toby makes the introductions. "Derek, Aidan, Brenna, Mags, Zach, and Liam."

There are handshakes all around, and then chatter starts up about spring classes and what Liam is working on for his senior project, and whether Mags has gotten everything in order for her study abroad. Kurt just lingers on the edges, taking everything in and feeling like maybe he could belong here. Toby stays close, which Kurt is oddly grateful for, until John comes barreling into the kitchen to call them all for dinner.

The living room is set with two long tables; John takes one end and Thomas the other, with their students ( _disciples_ , Kurt thinks as he slides into his chair) lining the edges. There's a massive amount of food, and wine gets passed more than once between plates of turkey and roasted vegetables and stuffing and gravy. Kurt declines every time Toby tries to pour scant inches into his wine glass; he doesn't like the way alcohol mutes him, and he wants every moment of this night to be crystal clear and crisp, because it's a sensory experience unlike any other. Even though he is new to the group, and a relative outsider at this table, he feels welcomed and included in a way he hasn't for most of the semester.

There are three kinds of pie, and a spicy pumpkin cheesecake with buttery caramel sauce that Kurt thinks he could eat every day and never get tired of, and vanilla coffee and hot cider. After the meal, most of the other students linger at the wrecked table. There are two other freshmen among Thomas' students from the History department, but they seem even more ill at ease than Kurt does, which seems impossible. He tries to talk with them, but they give one-word answers so he finally gives up.

When it's dark outside and the room is lit by fire and candles, Kurt is feeling full and sleepy and he wonders about the proper protocol for extracting oneself from such a dinner. He ends up being saved by Mags, who stands and yawns and makes her excuses, and then everyone else comes to life. Bodies moving, chairs scraping, fleece and wool. Backpacks opening and receiving foil-wrapped leftovers "because that's the best part," Thomas says as he hands Kurt his own package of goodies. Kurt smiles at Thomas' wink and nod and _I gave you an extra piece of cheesecake_ , because it means that he wasn't invisible during the meal. John disappears briefly and returns to Kurt's side with a stack of books. "These are the Paul Monette books I told you about. Keep them for as long as you'd like." Kurt slides them into his pack, places his leftovers delicately on top, and shoulders his pack before wrapping his scarf around his neck and head. He thanks John and Thomas, and lands on the porch in a mess of people, and it takes them all a minute to disengage. Groups start splintering off, headed back to empty suites and apartments in the quiet night. Kurt is halfway down the block when he sees Toby standing under a streetlight. He falls into step beside Kurt and asks lightly "Can I walk you home?"

"Sure."

"So, what did you think?"

"It was interesting. And fun." And so much that he can't say, _exhilarating_ and _I belonged there_ even if he doesn't quite understand why yet, and _**that**_ _was what I have been waiting for._ "I'm still a little unclear about the whole chosen few thing, though."

"Oh. It's nothing, really. More of a joke, because some people in the department think that we all get special treatment or something, when it's really that we have a place to go and people to talk to. John has this knack for picking us."

"Picking who?"

"The kids who are lonely, and alone, but shouldn't be."

"I wondered."

"Yeah. It's a little unnerving at first, the way he just sees things, you know? But you'll get used to it. And the others are really nice. But they're all upperclassmen, so it's kind of different."

"You're a sophomore?"

"Yeah."

Toby stops walking, and Kurt pulls up beside him. "What's wrong?"

Toby looks away, and then turns back to look at Kurt. "I knew who you were when you walked into the kitchen. I saw you sing at open mic, and you were incredible. John has been telling us about this kid in his Comp class, I just didn't realize that kid was you."

Kurt isn't sure what to do with any of this, doesn't quite know why Toby is telling him this. So he just stands there, watching the snow cling to Toby's hair and Toby shoving his hands into his coat pockets. Kurt just stares, and Toby finally starts walking again.

They walk in silence to Calhoun, and Kurt fumbles for his keys with his mittened hands. When he looks up, Toby is a little too close, and Kurt drops his keys. Before he can bend to pick them up, Toby's hand is on his shoulder and his eyes are wide.

"I don't usually. I mean, this is really not me. But. Could I kiss you?"

Kurt blinks, and thinks about being 19 and only having kissed two boys, and figures _what the hell_ , so he nods. Toby's lips are gentle, and he tastes like snow and apples and wine, and Kurt feels wonder and lightness and promise, and it feels _nice_. And Kurt knows that he could let it continue, could even try to date Toby, because Toby is clearly interested, but it wouldn't be _right_. Not yet, so he pulls away.

"I'm sorry. I can't."

"The ex boyfriend." Toby doesn't look hurt, just understanding.

"It's unfinished. I have to finish it first."

Toby nods. "I get that. But," he looks at Kurt with a wry smile, "I still kind of like you. I'd like to know you better."

"I'd like that, too."

"So maybe I'll call you over the weekend and we can go for coffee?"

"Definitely."

"Good night, Kurt."

"Good night, Toby."

* * *

Kurt sees Toby three times before Christmas break. The first is for coffee on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, the second for dinner during reading days, off campus at a pizza place. And the third is the night before Kurt leaves to drive home to Ohio, when he's still riding the high of finishing his first semester and Toby takes him out dancing. It's the first time Kurt's been since summertime, and like so much in his life it makes him think about Dave. And he hates it. Hates himself for letting Dave in, for taking the bait, and mostly for not fighting harder for the both of them. So he loses himself in the music, and in the not-yet-comfortable feel of Toby's body as they curl together on the dance floor. This time, when Toby kisses him in the Calhoun entryway, Kurt doesn't fight it. He takes it in, lets it mingle with his sadness and confusion, and feels it all pour out of him when he takes Toby's hand and asks _would you like to come upstairs?_

He doesn't realize until later, when he's climbed the stairs alone and slipped into bed that he's secretly grateful that Toby said _no, not yet_ and _have a good trip_ and _let me know when it's finished with Dave_.

But Kurt somehow knows that it's never really going to be finished, and it's that thought that pushes him through the miles home, so that when he pulls into the driveway of his house the first thing he does is send a text to Dave. _I'm home. Need to see you ASAP._

He hasn't even pulled his first bag out of the back of the car when his phone is buzzing in his hands. _Leaving now. Be there soon._

He's standing in the driveway pawing through the stuff in the car trying to decide what has to go in immediately and what can wait till morning when Dave's Jeep rounds the corner, and then he is still and silent and Dave's hands are on his face and in his hair and he is falling, _falling_ _all over again_ , and it is so different from summertime and _he_ is so different, and he feels like hate and hurt and love and home. And it is everything.


	10. Seasons Change Love is Not a Victory March Dave

Dave spends his first week in Berkeley getting his feet under him. It's initially overwhelming, but parts of the Bay area make him think of Chicago and his mother, so it ends up being less foreign than he had feared.

There're three other guys in his suite, and his roommate Adam is a nice kid from San Diego who just says "oh, cool" when Dave comes out to him, and then keeps on talking about his family, and asks Dave about living in Ohio. They exist, the four of them in their suite, like little molecules, rapidly developing in jokes and memorizing each other's pizza and Chinese orders, and it's the kind of brotherhood that Dave missed when he quit the football team. Adam slaps Dave's back on Friday nights when he goes out dancing in the Castro, and tells him jokingly to just _let me know if you want the room_ even though Dave's corkboard is practically a tribute to Kurt. It's all he can do, keep him close by photo, because he can't make himself pick up the phone and call.

All he's ever had to give to Kurt is a lifetime of _I'm sorry_ and he doesn't want to do that anymore because Kurt is worth more than that.

So he goes to the little tourist shops tucked all over the Bay area on the weekends and buys postcards of all the places he wants to show Kurt in this city that fits him better than he'd ever imagined. He sends one or two cards a week, and he doesn't write much, just the first few words that pop into his head when he picks up card and pen. It doesn't help, not really, unless you count the moment of calm that seeps into Dave's brain when he imagines Kurt in his New England paradise reading Dave's words and smiling. He doesn't even want to entertain the thought that maybe the cards do more harm than good.

He sees Kurt everywhere: a shadow he catches in the corner of his eye when he waits for his latté one Saturday morning; in the mannerisms of the kid three rows in front of him in Organic Chemistry, who twirls his pen in his delicate fingers and renders Dave flushed and wanting at the thought of _Kurt's_ hands; in every slim-hipped boy who presses against him in Friday night clubs.

It's too much, and none of it is near enough.

Dave's never been a drink or drugs kind of a guy, though he'd have easy access to both if he really wanted to get out of his head that way. Instead, he goes back to what he's always known. He starts working out. Specifically, he starts swimming. He'd been a mediocre age-group summer league swimmer as a kid, back before he got tall and big and angry and better suited to sports that involved hurting people. He's strong in the water, but he's not the fastest guy, so he goes to the pool every evening and swims for an hour. After, he's limp and mindless in a way that lets him focus on his schoolwork instead of on Kurt. The exercise lets him sleep. It's not perfect, Dave knows that, but it's the best he can do at the moment.

* * *

Other than his suitemates, he's never really had to have a big "I'm gay" talk with anyone on campus. It's a big place, easy to get lost. Easy to be overlooked. When people ask if he has a girlfriend at home or at another school, he's honest and says that his ex-boyfriend is on the East Coast, and he thinks every time he says it that these California kids are a lot more laid back than he'd expected, because none of them even do a double take.

In October, the campus GLBT organization has a big rally for National Coming Out Day. Dave hasn't gone to a meeting at all, because he's afraid that he won't fit in there, and he has been avoiding the fliers for the event because it's _exactly_ the kind of thing Kurt would want him to go to. But as he's passing by the Quad on his yo-yo swing between lunch and the dorm and his 2 pm Sociology lecture, he hears voices and cheering, and he thinks _fuck Sociology_ even though he secretly loves the class. He slips his backpack onto both shoulders and lingers at the edges of the crowd listening to students who are lining up on the makeshift stage to proclaim their sexuality, or tell their coming out stories. He's shifting, on the verge of running or staying, his body hasn't made a firm decision, when he's approached by a girl with a clipboard and a basket of pins.

"Would you like to sign up on the speaker's list?"

"'Scuse me?"

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. I'm Trina. If you'd like to speak, you can sign up with me."

"Oh. No. I don't. Want to speak, I mean."

"Okay. Would you like a pin?" She holds the basket out to him and what he thought were buttons are actually little triangles cut out of rainbow ribbon and affixed with a tiny gold safety pin. He can see that this Trina has one in the front of her sweatshirt, and a glance around the assembled crowd tells him that most of the people have a ribbon either on their shirts or backpacks. He smiles and plucks two of them out of her basket.

"Thanks."

"No prob. I haven't seen you at any of the meetings."

"No. Haven't been to any."

"I was a little nervous at first. I mean, it's scary. But everyone is really nice. We've got a meeting tonight, at seven, and we'll be sharing our coming out stories. You should come. We usually go for pizza afterwards."

"I don't-"

"Look. We don't bite. Here . . ." She grabs Dave's hand and pushes his sleeve up so she can get to the soft underside of his wrist. She uses the pen attached to her clipboard to print her phone number into his pale skin in black ink. "Give me a call, if you decide to come, and I'll meet you so you don't have to walk in alone. 'Cause that _can_ be scary."

Dave laughs softly in spite of himself, and something in her mannerisms reminds him of Rachel Berry, which is probably why he tells her that he'll meet her outside of the student union just before seven.

He fiddles with his sleeve where it covers her phone number as he walks to class. He'll make Sociology after all.

* * *

Dave skips the pool that night. Instead, he goes back to his room after dinner and changes for the meeting.

He wears Kurt's shirt.

He supposes it says a lot about his new environment that he doesn't draw any stares as he crosses campus. He does, however, cause quite a commotion when he follows Trina into the GLBTA meeting room/office space. At first he's met with silent stares until a lanky guy with what Dave thinks of as smart person glasses calls from across the room.

"Oh, baby, that is a _fabulous_ shirt." The ice breaks then, and he's ushered into the crowd and settled onto a spot on a worn sofa. He glances over to the doorway, where Trina smiles and shrugs. Dave is thankful that glasses guy steps to the front and calls the meeting to order, because it saves him from more stares and questions that he'd rather not answer over and over again.

"Hi, y'all. I'm Travis; I'm the chair of the GLBTA, and for our new faces, welcome. This is our annual Coming Out Extravaganza. It's not our traditional format, but tonight we'll be sharing our coming out stories. If you don't feel like sharing, sit back and enjoy. Does anyone want to start?"

Progress is slow, and Dave listens to people talk about coming out in middle school, in high school, at summer camps and jobs. Still others talk about still figuring themselves out, or struggling to tell roommates and families. Finally things slow down, so Dave takes a deep breath and stands up. The room is small, and pretty packed, so he stays where he is and has to work to keep his balance so he doesn't fall into the girls sitting at his feet. He fingers the hem of the shirt, and thinks about Kurt. Always Kurt, even in this room full of brave kids. Maybe especially in this room full of brave kids.

He's standing there, trying to speak. And he can't, because all of his coming out is so tied up in itself, is such a bitter mix of hurt and pride, that he doesn't know where to start. He thinks about Azimio walking away from him in the stairwell, about every strangled conversation with his father, about the daily fear of walking through school and wondering if the next corner is going to be the one with a crowd of hockey players waiting. Even the good parts, the Glee kids and Kurt's family and loving Kurt and being loved, are murky at the edges because of everything that happened _before_ he came out. Nothing feels pure; it's all tainted, and Dave wants to run. Instead, he manages to spill out the most condensed version of his story that he can put to words, a brief _I wore this shirt to school the first day of my senior year_ before he picks his way through the crowd at his feet and escapes into the brightly lit hallway.

He chokes for air, wonders if he can make it to the gym before the pool closes, wishes he hadn't stopped at the rally. Wishes he hadn't come to this meeting, because he doesn't belong here. Even though he gets along with his suitemates and likes his classes, he doesn't know _where_ he belongs, and he's half stunned that it's taken him this long to figure it out. He slumps against the wall, and fights the tears as long as he can, which isn't long, so that when the door creaks open and Travis peeks his head out, Dave is kind of silently crying and wishing that he'd at least hidden in the men's room because really? Crying in front of strangers is so embarrassing.

"Are you okay?" Travis' voice is gentle, and Dave wants anything but gentleness right now.

"What do you think?" Dave's words have more of a bite than he intended, but he can see through his tears that Travis doesn't even flinch.

"I think maybe you could use somebody to talk to?"

Dave wants to deny it, but there's no way in hell he's in any shape to do any such thing right now. So he half nods and swipes at his tears with his arm before pushing himself up the wall so that he's at least standing. Travis looks at him and motions with his head towards the late night café in the atrium.

"We can get coffee, if you want."

Dave nods, and follows. Coffee and talking. Even if the parties involved and the location are new, coffee and talking are things Dave can totally do.

Two lattés later, Dave is talked out. He's not used to the telling of things, of all his _stuff_ , because everyone relevant in his life to this point witnessed it all in brilliant color. It feels strange. Sometimes it feels like he's talking about someone else. But it also feels good, because it's the first time he's admitted out loud that he was so incredibly stupid to push Kurt away like he did. Travis just listens and nods, and smiles sometimes like maybe he's been where Dave is now, floundering and flailing, and Dave can see that maybe someday he won't feel like this anymore. It doesn't come close to making things better, but it's a start.

"It can be hard, being here, being away from everything familiar. Especially for out-of-state kids." The hour is getting late, and Dave can hear something long and soft and vaguely southern in Travis' voice. He sits back and looks Travis in the eye.

"Where are you from?"

Travis pushes his glasses up, and sweeps a hand through his sandy brown hair. "Texas. Why?"

"I can hear it."

"Must mean I'm getting tired. Or relaxed." He shakes his head. "Or maybe a little of both. I hide it pretty well."

"Why would you want to hide it?" Dave knows it's a dumb question, but he's got a thing for accents.

"Because people make assumptions. I deal with that shit enough when it comes to being gay, because that's something I _can't_ hide. The accent isn't important enough to me to fight for it."

"Oh." Dave thinks on that for a minute, and almost says that he thinks it's sexy. But he catches himself before he makes an even bigger fool of himself. As if that's even possible. He blinks around the thought, and starts gathering up his trash. It's late, and he's kept Travis from pizza with the group, and he still has some reading to finish for tomorrow, so he makes his excuses. Travis is quick to jump up and help him bus their table, and then they stand in slightly awkward silence as they pull on sweatshirts and shoulder their backpacks.

"Thanks. For talking. And for the coffee. I . . ."

"No worries. Someone did the same for me last fall when I was a freshman and feeling like you are. Just pay it forward sometime and we'll be even."

"I can do that."

"Good."

Dave turns to leave, and then turns back. He fishes in his pocket for a pen, and grabs Travis' arm. Like Trina had done to him earlier in the day, he slides the cuff of Travis' sweatshirt up and prints his phone number gently into the inside of his arm. When he's done, he pulls the sleeve back down and looks at his feet.

"If you ever get tired of hiding your accent, call me."

And then he's gone, before he can blush. And before he can hear Travis whisper _I will_ to his retreating back.

* * *

Dave doesn't go back to the GLBTA. He feels like he's still searching, yearning, waiting. He just wishes he knew for what.

* * *

His mom wants him to come to Chicago for Thanksgiving, is even willing to buy his ticket. He thinks on it for most of the first part of November before deciding that it might be fun, so he calls her and tells her to book the ticket.

SFO is crazy on Tuesday afternoon. Dave gets there better than three hours before his flight, and has to wait in the longest security line known to man. When he falls out onto the other side, he finds his gate and then goes to one of the food court areas for a latté to smooth the edges of the Chem lab report he has to finish over break. He hates that he's had to bring a full backpack of work with him, but he guesses it's better than missing the holiday altogether, which is what would have happened if he'd stayed on campus. He's deep into the work when he hears someone cough behind him, like they're trying to get his attention.

"Dave."

He turns, and is face to face with Travis. Who looks exhausted.

"Hey! Travis! Are you headed home?"

"Yeah. You?"

Dave shakes his head, then pauses. "Kind of. My mom and stepfather live in Chicago. I'm going there." As he's gotten to know his mom better, he supposes that Chicago is a little bit like home.

"Cool."

"Yeah. My mom's pretty cool, and my sisters are sweet. My stepfather's kind of a jerk. He doesn't like that I'm . . . you know."

"Gay."

"Uh huh. Richard-"

"The jerk?"

"I prefer step-asshole, but yes. I think he'd call me a fag to my face if I'd let him. But I don't put up with that shit. Especially not around the girls."

Dave really looks at Travis then, at the way he's kind of leaning against the back of the chair across from Dave, so he motions with his head. "Want to join me? When is your flight?"

"Thanks." Dave watches as Travis pulls the chair out and drops into it, and removes his glasses to rub at his eyes. "I don't leave till 8, but I wanted to get here really early. You?"

"6:30. Thanks for joining me. You're saving me from Chemistry."

"Mmm."

"Dude." Dave can't help it. Too many years around jocks have left the word a fixture in his vocabulary, even though it makes him feel slow and stupid when he hears it pouring out of his mouth. "You okay? Don't take this wrong, but you look like crap."

"It's just the time of year. Too much work, not enough sleep. Too many gray days."

"Too many boy troubles?"

"What? No. No boy troubles."

Dave is feeling brave, and mildly flirty, so he smiles at Travis over his cardboard cup. "Maybe that's your problem right there."

"Yeah. Maybe."

They sit, Travis looking at the table and Dave looking at Travis. Dave fights the urge to start toying with the sleeve on his cup, so instead he modulates his voice to keep from sounding needy and neglected before he speaks.

"You never called."

"Would you believe me if I told you that I lost your number?"

"No. Did you?"

"No." Travis sits back in his chair and closes his eyes. "I couldn't. You trusted me when you didn't know me. I couldn't take advantage of that."

"I _gave_ you my number."

"I know. But you're still . . . you're so . . ."

"I'm what?"

Travis' voice is gentle. "You're still kind of a baby gay in the big city. Innocent. I can't take advantage of that just because I might be a little interested in you."

"Why does that matter? You're only a year older than I am. And I'm not all that innocent."

Dave watches as Travis' eyes go dark, and when he speaks his voice is hoarse and whispery. "Because I was like you, wide-eyed and wanting, and I trusted the wrong guy. I trusted the wrong fucking guy. And I think I might like you, but I think you're still completely in love with your ex, and I can't do anything about it. Any of it. Because I won't hurt you, and I can't let myself get hurt again. So I didn't call."

Dave realizes, a little late, that maybe the airport food court is the least appropriate place to have this conversation. But maybe it's the best place for the both of them because they are anonymous here. And there's nowhere to run for either of them, so he has to sit here and finish this.

"I don't care about any of that. You're a nice guy and you're cute and clearly smart. And I don't know if I might like you or not because, yeah, I'm probably still in love with Kurt. But there's this thing called being friends. I didn't give you my number for a hook-up, because I'm not _that_ kind of a guy. I gave you my number because you listened, and you were nice, and I thought that maybe you'd like to be friends." Dave pauses, and thinks _what the hell_ and adds "And I think your accent is really hot" before he blushes and looks away.

"Thanks."

Dave pulls his phone out of his pocket and slides it across the table. "Here. Put your number in."

Travis takes the phone, taps his finger on it like he's thinking, and then slides it open and adds his information. He reaches into his pocket for his own phone, and holds Dave's gaze for a moment. "I'm not promising anything."

Dave releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "I'm not asking for anything."

"Okay, then."

Dave enters his name and number, and then stands up. "I need to get going. Have a good trip."

"I will. You, too."

"Will do." He tries not to look back as he moves out into the crowd. But he does it anyway, and he's not surprised to see Travis watching him walk away.

If he's being honest, he kind of likes it.

It isn't until he's crammed into a middle seat at the back of the plane that he realizes he hasn't thought about Kurt all afternoon. He's not sure what to do with that.

* * *

Dave's holiday starts well. Skylar and Kylie love the Berkeley t-shirts he brought them, and he has a good talk with his mom that first night. He gets good sleep, and gets homework done, and helps his mom cook Thanksgiving dinner. It's _at_ dinner when things go south.

Dave's sitting between his mom and Kylie, working on buttering his sweet potato and helping Kylie cut her turkey into bite-sized pieces when Richard's sister starts asking him about school. Easy questions at first, friends and classes and what he might major in and what he'll be able to do with a math major. He knows the inevitable girlfriend talk is coming, so he doesn't even blink when she asks.

"No. I don't have a girlfriend."

"Too busy?"

Dave takes a bite of sweet potato and smiles nicely at her across the table. "No. Too gay."

She stops for a moment, and then keeps going. "Sorry, Richard never said. Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No. I did. We broke up before school started. He goes to Yale."

"Impressive."

Dave nods around turkey and gravy, and feels his mom's hand on his knee. He's a little surprised when she speaks up.

"Kurt is a wonderful boy. Nice family. I still think you two should give things another try."

Through all of it, Richard is silent. And, Dave notices, slightly pale. So he isn't surprised when Richard finds his voice. His words are daggers, and Dave isn't completely sure if they're directed at him or his mom. "I told you both I didn't want that kind of talk here. You can be a f-"

Dave's on his feet then, angry in a way he hasn't been in a long time. "And I told you I don't want you using _that_ word around my sisters. Think what you want about me. But don't teach them your hate." He tucks his napkin under the edge of his plate and steps around his chair. "I'm sorry. I need some air." He's mere feet into the living room and moving fast towards the door when he can hear Richard erupting, his sister making apologies, and his mother defending him. He shuts it all out, his brain focused only on getting him out of there. Running, again. He grabs his coat from the hooks by the door, and he's outside and halfway down the block when he realizes two things: nothing is open, and it's snowing.

He finally stops and clears a spot on a bus bench, and pulls his phone out of his pocket before sitting down. He scrolls through his contacts, and lets his finger pause over Kurt's name. Kurt could talk him down, talk him through the rage simmering under his skin, but he doesn't want to interrupt the Hudson-Hummel family dinner. Or whatever Kurt might be doing this Thanksgiving night. He keeps scrolling, and finally settles on taking a chance.

Travis answers on the third ring, and Dave can hear shouts and cheers, and what has to be the Cowboys game blaring from somewhere.

"Dave?"

"Hey. If I'm interrupting, just hang up."

"No. It's fine. Hold on a sec." Dave hears footsteps and the snick of a door closing, and then it's quiet. Travis' voice is rich with concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. No."

"Your stepfather?"

"Yeah."

"How bad is it?"

"I walked out of dinner. He was going to start with the hate again and I just . . . I couldn't listen to it, and he doesn't listen to me. And I was afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Of doing or saying something that I'd regret later. That's what got me in trouble in high school, being unable to see around the fear and anger."

"So you left."

"I left." _I ran. I'm a coward._

"I think that was smart. Give everybody some time to cool off. Can I do anything?"

"Talk to me. Please." Dave doesn't know if it will work; Kurt was always the only one who could talk him down, and some of that was the way he'd still Dave's frantic hands with his own while he talked. But he can't call Kurt, because he knows he'd break, so he has to trust Travis for this.

"About what?"

"Something good."

"Okay. So. I couldn't wait to get out of this town after high school. It was boring and stifling and I felt every day like I was suffocating. But coming back after being away is different. It's like I can see this place differently, and there are so many things that are good here. We're going to the football game tomorrow night. It's like religion here."

Dave leans his head back against the bench and closes his eyes. He listens to Travis, listens to Texas in his voice, as he talks about football and the food his mom is cooking and what it feels like to have sunshine on his face again. He can picture it, can even almost smell packed earth and warm sun and rain that doesn't always make it to the ground. It warms him, even as light snowflakes fall on his closed eyes.

* * *

The bustle of campus after the break just about sends Dave over the edge. He's got end of semester projects for Sociology and English that are due before reading days, and then he still has four final exams. The fact that they're his first college exams has him freaking out, which is why he calls Travis at midnight on the first day of reading days. He doesn't even let Travis answer, really, before he's talking.

"Dude. I need you to tell me that I'm not going to fail. Because this exam shit is making me crazy."

Travis' laugh is gentle. "You're not going to fail. You've got study guides from your professors?"

"Yeah."

"There you go. If you work with the guides, you'll be fine. Breathe. Take a shower. And go to bed. And stay away from crowds of people. The library is the worst. Everyone gets frantic and all that energy has to feed off of something."

"Okay."

"And make sure to eat. I know it seems counterintuitive, taking a meal break when there's studying to do, but you have to eat."

"Don't worry. I'm not one for skipping a meal."

"Good. Since you're planning to eat, do you want to meet me for dinner tomorrow night?"

"In the dining hall?"

"No. I was thinking maybe that pizza we never got the night you came to the meeting."

"Sure. It'll be a good break."

They settle on time and place before hanging up, and Dave follows Travis' instructions. Oddly enough, he sleeps like a baby straight through till morning.

* * *

He's early for dinner, so he settles into a booth with a book and reads while he waits. Travis is breathless, his hair shower-damp, when he slides in across from Dave 15 minutes late. His apology is spilling off his tongue as he tugs his jacket off.

"I fell asleep."

"No worries." Dave closes his book and slides it into his backpack. "I always have a book."

"What kind of pizza do you like?"

Ah. The moment of truth. Dave thinks about what he _could_ order, thinks about the safe things like sausage or mushroom, because his favorite still draws stares. "Don't laugh."

"No laughing. Got it."

"Pepperoni and pineapple."

"You got it."

"You didn't laugh."

That makes Travis laugh. "It's my favorite combo, too, and everyone I know thinks it's gross."

"Well. I clearly don't, so call me the next time you have a craving."

They share a large pizza and an order of boneless wings, and they split the check. Dave enjoys the conversation, and they're both a little flirty, and it feels nice. Travis walks him back to his dorm after, even though it's on the other side of campus from his own, and they make small talk outside for a few minutes. Dave thinks that Travis might kiss him, so he waits. And waits. And nothing. So he lets the conversation winds down naturally, and pushes off the wall from where he's been leaning. He wants to say something, but he just leans in and kisses Travis softly. It's not fireworks, but it's good.

When Travis pulls away, he looks at Dave and smiles. "That was lovely. I had a nice time. Maybe we can do that again before break?"

"The pizza or the kissing?"

"How about both?" This time, Travis is the one who starts the kiss, and it gets a little more frantic, and Dave likes the way Travis feels, warm and surprisingly strong under his hands.

But it's too much, and it's good and strange and it makes Dave want in a way he's been avoiding for too long. So when Travis tugs on his sleeve and says _do you have to get back to work right away?_ Dave shakes his head and follows Travis back across campus to the dorm where he has a single room. They don't talk, but Travis' hand is warm in Dave's own, and it calms his thudding heart a little bit.

Dave waits while Travis fumbles with his keys, and once they're inside the small room Dave feels awkward and small and a little nervous. It's mostly because he's not sure what's going to happen, and he's only ever done stuff with Kurt, and once they got together they had an easy physicality. But this? This is all new, and it's exciting and a little scary, and Dave can see Travis hesitate before leaning in and kissing him again.

They're on Travis' bed, and there are hands over clothes and against skin, hard in hair and gentle against cheek and neck. Dave is breathless, and his eyes are wide as Travis' hand settles at the edge of the waistband of his jeans. He wants. How he wants. But his brain is finally catching up, and he can't move. He can't give in, and he can't run, so he sits up and pushes himself down to the foot of the bed.

"It's Kurt, isn't it?" Travis' hair is sticking up and his t-shirt is askew, and his cheeks are flushed. He doesn't sound sad or angry or any of the things Dave was expecting.

"Yeah." Dave's words are a whisper. "It's Kurt. I haven't talked to him since August. I just. Crap. I want this. Because I like you, and I'd like to try dating you. And this making out is pretty hot, I'm not gonna lie."

"But your first time is supposed to be with Kurt."

"Huh." Dave's head just about explodes with that realization. "Yeah. I guess. And even if it's not, I need to know."

"Know what?"

"If I still love him, or if I just love the idea of him."

"Okay. Okay." Dave waits while Travis sits up and puts his glasses back on, runs a hand through his hair and makes it stick up even worse. "So. Here's the deal. We're going to get through exams, and then you're going to go home to Ohio and you're going to deal with Kurt. If it's still love, I'll be your friend. Because you're a good guy and you'd be a good friend. If it's not, then when we get back in January we'll try the dating thing."

"Yeah."

"Good. Now. I think you need to go. Because if you don't, I can't be held responsible for what I might do, because I'd love to get you out of your clothes."

Dave thinks about staying anyway, but Travis is right. It wouldn't be fair to either of them, so he slides his feet into his shoes and his torso into his jacket, and waves awkwardly before leaving and going back to the chaos of his suite. He ignores the tinge of sadness that follows him down the hall into the night.

* * *

His dad drives down to Dayton to pick him up at the airport, and Dave ends up sleeping off some of his post-finals hangover on the drive home, and the rest of it overnight and into mid-day the following day. His dad stays late at the office, finishing up a bunch of stuff before the two weeks of vacation he's taking, so Dave spends most of the day puttering around in sweats and a t-shirt and marveling at the feeling of having hours and days of nothing but time stretched out ahead of him.

He's curled up in bed reading as the afternoon slides into dusk when his phone buzzes next to him. He thinks maybe it's Travis, who he's talked and texted with every day for the last week even though they're not dating, but it's not. He's off the bed before he really processes the words.

 _I'm home. Need to see you ASAP._ Kurt.

Dave jams his feet into his untied sneakers and tries not to trip on the laces as he runs downstairs and out to his car. He shoots a reply back even as he slides the key into the ignition and starts the engine.

 _Leaving now. Be there soon._

It's too fast, and not fast enough, and he's trembling as he drives because he's entering all or nothing territory here. It's terrifying and exciting, and he's hoping against all hope that Kurt will accept one last apology.

Kurt is fumbling with something in the back of the Navigator when Dave rounds the corner. He pulls up to the curb, and feels his breath catch in his throat when Kurt turns to look at him. _Oh_. His boy looks wrecked and wasted and exactly like Dave has felt for so much time that he hardly notices anymore. He doesn't think that he's moved away from the Jeep, but there he is in the driveway with Kurt in his arms. He feels right. It all feels right, the touches of lips and teeth and tongue, and soft hands and strong arms, and it makes Dave want to cry with a combination of relief and sadness.

He's pretty sure that this is love.


	11. The Space Between Our Wicked Lies

Kurt is pulled from drowning by the unmistakable sound of his father clearing his throat.

"Boys. Let's bring it inside before the whole neighborhood gets a show."

When Kurt looks away from Dave and over to where his dad is standing in the open front door, he sees that although his voice was stern, his eyes are dancing. Kurt grabs his backpack and laundry basket, decides that everything else can wait, and motions for Dave to put the back down and follow him into the house. Kurt hugs his dad and Carole, and asks after Finn, who had a late exam and won't be home until the morning. And before they have a chance to be sucked into more small talk, Kurt practically pushes Dave up the stairs.

"I don't care that you're both in college. The door stays open! And I _will_ be checking!" His dad's voice echoes up the stairs even as Kurt pulls Dave into his room and closes the door with an almost silent click.

Dave is on him in a heartbeat, and while Kurt wants all of it, he _has_ to step back. Because they haven't even talked since August, and all he's gotten are those damn postcards, and there's Toby and he has no idea if Dave's been seeing anyone at Berkeley, and they need to freaking _talk._

"Whoa. Slow down, cowboy." Kurt backs away and busies himself with emptying his backpack as a way to keep his hands firmly to himself. "Why don't you sit, and we can talk like rational human beings." _Instead of hormone-crazed boys._

"I'm sorry. God. It's just. _Shit_." Dave looks hollow, like the semester took something hard and deep from him. It's how Kurt feels. He wonders if it has anything to do with their being apart. Or if it has _everything_ to do with their being apart. Dave continues, his voice raspy and full of emotion. "I'm sorry, Kurt. I'm sorry I pushed you away. It was the biggest mistake, and I couldn't . . . I didn't know what to do or say. And I was really only barely holding it together and I knew if I called then . . ."

Kurt crosses the room and lets his finger fall soft and silent against Dave's mouth. "Shhh. I know. We were broken. I couldn't decide if I wanted you to call or not. Because it hurt more than I had expected, and I was so mad at myself for making you break up with me. For that stupid deal. For falling in love with you and then letting you walk away. And I really didn't think that I needed this. You. I was doing better."

"So what happened?"

They're still standing, not quite touching, but Kurt can feel Dave's nerves, ever jingling, and the heat from his body. Can smell the familiar and comforting faint tang of aftershave. "I went out dancing last night, with this kid I met at Thanksgiving. We've been out a couple of times, and he likes me. And I think I could like him. But I had to see this first. I had to know."

"Know what?"

"If we're in this or not." Kurt isn't sure what his revelation is going to get him, but he definitely isn't expecting Dave to wrap him up in his arms, to feel the gentle puff of Dave's sigh against his hair. To hear Dave's indecision.

"I don't know. If we're in this. Things are complicated for me, too."

"You have someone at school."

"No. Well. Not really. Like you, someone who's interested, and I might be interested, too. But you're right. We need to deal with our shit first."

"So what do we do?" Because damn, Kurt doesn't want to seem needy, but it's how he feels, so he lets a little bit creep into his voice.

"We say goodnight. I go home to my dad and you see your family. And tomorrow we meet for coffee and talk."

"Coffee and talking."

"Yeah. I remember when we used to be good at it."

Kurt smiles at the memory, but it all feels so long ago. So innocent, so . . . not who he is now. But he figures he can handle it. He sighs before he speaks. "Okay."

"Same time, same place?"

"Sure."

* * *

3:30 at the Lima Bean, nonfat mocha and vanilla latté, like nothing has changed. But everything has changed, and Dave is about to crawl out of his skin.

Kurt looks beautiful, even clearly sleep deprived and dressed more down than Dave has ever seen him in jeans and sneakers and an ultra-baggy Yale sweatshirt. Dave pushes Kurt's mocha across the table to him as he settles into his chair, and then they sit and stare at each other for a few minutes. Dave finally finds the words he's been swallowing around since last night.

"Tell me about the boy. The one from Thanksgiving."

"I can't just tell you about that, because it would make no sense. I have to tell you all of it. We've missed _months_ , Dave. It's not that easy. It's not supposed to be easy."

"I'm so-"

Kurt sighs at him then, in that way he has for all the people in his life who disappoint them. Dave tenses, because he thought he'd stopped being one of those people so long ago. But he also knows that he has no right to expect anything else, no anymore.

"Don't you dare tell me you're sorry again." Kurt's voice is like glass. "I _know_. I'm sorry, too. For all of it. But we either do this and move forward, however that's going to be, or we do this and walk away. But we have to do the talking first."

"Okay." Dave runs his hand through his hair, twists the drawstring on his hoodie. Stops, finally, because he knows his endless fidgeting drives Kurt out of his mind. "So. Tell me about your semester, and I'll tell you about mine, and we'll go from there."

"Again, not easy. Because I don't know about yours, but my semester kind of sucked."

Dave releases a harsh laugh at Kurt's bluntness. "So what happened?"

Dave sips at his drink and listens to stories about drunken board games and feeling alone, which is nothing new, and learning how to make friends. About a professor, and a Thanksgiving dinner party, and a kiss in the snow. And then Kurt's talking about these books that the professor loaned him, and how he's going to take a creative writing class next semester, and if he likes it he can add the concentration to his English major. But Dave's brain is still back on the kiss and this Toby kid, and the weird-sounding professor who seems to collect outcasts, which just seems wrong even though Kurt sounds so excited about _finally_ feeling like he fits somewhere. When he finally winds down, telling Dave about inviting Toby to his room and being turned down, Dave isn't sure what to think. Because, yeah, it sure sounds like school was hard for Kurt at the beginning, but Dave thinks that maybe Kurt is getting on better at Yale than he does at Berkeley. He just kind of takes it all in and nods, and then Kurt is looking at him with wide eyes and asking "How was your semester?"

Dave talks around it, really. He tells Kurt about his roommates, and how easy it is to just be honest with people because he's kind of anonymous, but in a good way. What his classes are like, and that he's thinking about going for a sociology minor even though it makes more sense to do an education minor instead, and he actually has Kurt laughing over his ill-fated GLBTA meeting. But then he talks about Travis, and his own Thanksgiving, and he knows things are more complicated than he wants them to be.

Because he wants Kurt. He wants to fix it, to go back to Berkeley in three weeks and be able to say that his boyfriend goes to Yale. But he's not sure that either of them is in a place to do it. Because they're not those boys from August anymore, and they've missed so much.

Dave knows that Kurt can see it, too, because of the way his face has gone guarded and his shoulders have tensed a little. Dave's too scared to ask what they've been dancing around, and is a little relieved when Kurt finally grinds the question out.

"Are we too late for each other?"

Dave kind-of tugs at his hair. "I don't know." _Coward_.

"What do we do now?"

 _Take a risk. Again._ "When do you go back?"

"January term starts on the third. So I'll leave on the second to drive back."

"Then give me two weeks."

"Why? So I can let myself love you and have you break my heart again?"

"No. Look. We try it out. And then we talk. Actually talk about it, which is what we should have done in the summer, but we were stupid."

"And young."

Dave looks at Kurt then, really looks _hard_ , and he knows that Kurt is right. They were babies in August, and maybe they just dealt with everything the best way they knew how. Which, admittedly, was probably the worst possible way. But that's done, and Dave can't take it back as much as he wants to. What he can do is push a little harder and get Kurt to agree to the two weeks, because Dave thinks they need it. For no other reason than to say goodbye.

"Two weeks. Please, Kurt. You can walk away whenever you want." _Because I owe him that much, at least._

Kurt slumps in his chair, and Dave can tell that he's thinking about getting up right then and walking away, so he says the first thing that comes into his head. "You told me this wasn't supposed to be easy. Fight for it with me. Or try, at least."

"Two weeks. And no strings?"

Dave sets his hands square on the table. "No strings. If we decide to keep going, we'll figure things out. If we decide to let it go, we let it go. I promise."

Kurt reaches out then, slides his hand over Dave's. His eyes are dark and sad.

"The one thing I want is the one thing you can't promise."

Dave swallows and turns his hand over to squeeze Kurt's before he asks "what's that?"

"That you won't break my heart again."

Dave lets a hint of anger show through his words. "You broke mine too, you know."

* * *

Kurt gives Dave his two weeks. Of course, because it's Christmas and there are obligations surrounding family and friends, they mostly talk and text late at night. Dave comes to the open house at Kurt's on the 23rd, arriving late and lingering until the adults have all left and it's just the Glee kids down in the basement where they can play music and dance and catch up. Because Kurt is learning that they've all been distant from each other, and none of them have had an easy time making the transition. Mercedes is full of apologies for not calling or emailing, but Kurt could repeat the same apologies for the same reasons: it was easier to try and settle in than to relive the things that are gone now. But it feels so good to see everyone, and to feed off the energy that only comes from years of being a family, Kurt knows he won't make the same mistake come spring semester. As the crowd trickles out close to midnight, they make whispered promises to get together before everyone heads back after the New Year; Rachel even offers her dads' Oscar room, which makes Santana roll her eyes, but they all nod in agreement. Finn stumbles up to bed after Kurt closes the door behind Quinn and Tina, and Kurt finds himself very alone with Dave in his very dark living room.

God, how he wants to take him up to his room. But he's being careful, trying to protect his heart, so he lingers in the entryway and presses himself against Dave and kisses him. It's gentle, like getting to know each other again, but it still sends tingles down to Kurt's toes. And that makes him pull away, because even though he's agreed to the two weeks, he's still so torn about Toby, and if he lets himself feel too much then he won't be able to let things go. His head screams at him every day to let things go, but he can't. Not yet. So he kisses Dave again, and whispers gently _drive safe_ and _call you tomorrow_ and _goodnight_ before ushering him out the door. The only words Kurt doesn't say are the ones that hammer at him all the time. Not _I love you_. Kurt can't help but think he may never say them to Dave again, because if he does he'll be giving up his heart and he'll never get it back.

* * *

Burt's glad that the kids are gone. Carole's been sleeping for over an hour, but she worked the early shift so she'd be home for the open house; she was all but asleep on her feet when he finally dragged her from the dishes. But he's been shifting in bed, unable to relax until he heard the front door finally squeak closed and the gentle sounds of the boys moving around upstairs. He slips out from under the blankets and pads to the kitchen, where he fumbles in the dark for a glass on the drain board. When he opens the refrigerator for the orange juice, he catches a shadow out of the corner of his eye and jumps. Then his eyes focus and he sees that it's Kurt. He takes the juice out and flips on the overhead light.

"You okay, kiddo?" He's been worried. Kurt got home looking ragged and he's not looking much better for being home. He's been silent and more than a little withdrawn, but Burt also knows that the kid will damn well talk when he's ready.

Sitting in the dark somewhere beside his room is usually an indicator that he's ready.

"No. I'm not okay."

"Dave?" Burt pulls out the chair opposite Kurt, and pours half a glass of juice. Feels how little is left in the carton and decides to top the glass off because Carole will only scold him if he puts no better than three or four sips worth back in the fridge.

Kurt waves his hand vaguely. "Among other things."

"Wanna talk?"

"No."

Burt looks across the table, and raises an eyebrow. Damn if his kid isn't stubborn. He watches Kurt shift, and finally settle with his elbows up on the table.

"Okay. If you want to hear about my boy troubles."

But thinks it's a lot more than boy troubles, but he doesn't push. "I just hate to see you hurting like this."

And that's clearly the opening Kurt needed, because then stories are just falling out of his mouth. It feels to Burt like Pennsylvania again, just going along for the ride while Kurt tells all his secrets. It's always been this way between them, open and easy when they're alone in the dark. He knows Carole and Finn have been good for them, love them, and have taken on some confessional duties. But Burt also knows that the hard stuff, the scary stuff, will always be for the two of them alone.

When Kurt's all talked out, Burt sees it all clearly, even if Kurt can't. He knew school was a big adjustment, he just hadn't realized how much Kurt had been hurting. But he's glad that there are people looking out for him, that professor he talked about all the time on the phone, and Sara and Toby. It's everything with Dave that has them both worked up, so Burt decides it's time for some warm milk. If nothing else, he needs the activity to sort out what to say.

It helps, barely.

When he's emptied the pot into two mugs, and added vanilla to both and a sprinkle of cinnamon to Kurt's, he thinks he might be ready to discuss it rationally.

"Okay." Burt breathes deeply as he sets Kurt's mug on the table. "Let me make sure I understand all of this. You're kind of back with Dave, but Toby is interested. And you're interested in him, too."

"Yeah."

"But Toby won't make a move until you settle things with Dave."

"Right."

"And what exactly do you feel for Dave?"

"I don't know." Burt can see tears welling up in Kurt's eyes. "It's all jumbled. I mean, I loved him. But I'm not the same kid who loved him. It's been a really hard fall, and I guess I'm a little bitter, and I hate him sometimes. And myself."

"Why?"

"Because we were fine as friends, but we had to go and mess it up with love. And now I can't have my friend back and I'm not sure if taking my boyfriend back is a good idea."

"Why isn't it a good idea?"

"Because we're still kids. Because we go to school on opposite coasts and until you found us kissing in the driveway we hadn't spoken in almost four months. We don't even know each other anymore, and two weeks isn't enough time."

"So you're scared."

Kurt swallows a sip of milk and nods. "Terrified, more like it."

"Of what?" This is how it works with Kurt. Burt has to draw every word out, force him to reason out every possible action and reaction, all because his stubborn, amazing, wonderful boy feels too much and jumps in with his heart.

"Of the possibility that Dave is the real deal, that we're meant to be together. Because if it's true, and I let him go, I may never have it again."

"But what if he's _not_ the one for you? What if it's Toby or some other boy you haven't even met yet?"

"That's what Dave said back in the summer. He also said that if we were meant to be, we'd find our way back together someday."

Well. It was idealistic, maybe, but there was some small truth to Dave's theory. "He's not totally wrong, Kurt. But you're the only one who can make that decision. What do you want to do? What does your gut say?"

Kurt is silent, staring into his mug. It's nights like these when Burt wishes he could just fix things for Kurt, make them easier or something. Keep him from getting his heart broken over and over again, because Burt isn't sure how many more bounce-backs Kurt has left. But that's not the way things have ever been for the two of them. When Kurt finally looks up, his eyes are pained but clear.

"I think I have to walk away."

And Burt's heart breaks for his boy.

They're still sitting at the kitchen table, silent over now-cold mugs of milk, when Carole gets up for work before sunrise.

* * *

Dave had made plans for New Year's Eve. Granted that they were vague and involved driving to Columbus for First Night and fireworks and a hotel on the road somewhere. But then his dad announced that he'd be out for the evening, so Dave thought maybe he'd tell Kurt to pick up a movie and they'd order Chinese and stay in. But when he opens his front door to Kurt, all his plans go out the window. Because Kurt looks like hell.

"I'm not going to be able to do this."

Oh. "Do what?" Dave's voice is trapped, his hands trembling. He pulls Kurt into the living room and sits next to him on the couch.

"Any of this. I can't be your boyfriend, Dave. I can't have sex with you. Because it doesn't matter what your _plans_ for the night were, we both know that's what was going to happen."

"I know."

"You know what?"

"That you can't be my boyfriend. Because I don't think I can be yours either. I want to." He doesn't fight it, he just lets the tears that have been on the edge of his eyes for the better part of the week fall into his lap. "God, Kurt. I want to be your boyfriend, because I _still_ fucking love you. But it's hurting us both. And I can't do that to you. Or to myself."

"I think . . ." Dave can hear sadness in Kurt's voice, and can feel him give in to something. "I still love you, too. I just. I love myself more, and you're killing me. I think you were right, what you said when we started this. That if we're meant to be we'll find each other again."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I don't know. But I have think so, or else I can't let go."

They sit, Kurt with his head on Dave's shoulder, for a lifetime. Kurt finally breaks the silence with a whisper.

"What do we do now?"

"What do you want to do now?" Dave deflects, because he doesn't want Kurt to leave yet, but he has no right to ask anything of him now.

Kurt leans a little harder against Dave's side, and touches Dave's hand with a tentative finger.

"Would it be wrong if I asked you to take me to bed? I kind of . . . I guess. I just."

"Speak, K."

When he does, his voice is strong again. "I just assumed you'd be my first. Please."

Dave can't say no, because Kurt's never been the one doing the asking.

* * *

Kurt wants this, trusts Dave or he wouldn't be doing it. But he's scared, and he can tell that Dave is too. He allows the fleeting idea that maybe this isn't the right thing to pass across his consciousness, but it disappears as quickly as it came because Kurt knows that Dave's the only person for this. Kurt also thinks it should matter that they've just decided to go their separate ways, but that doesn't seem important either. Not when Dave is solid and warm against him, or when his hands are flush against Dave's back, pulling him closer. Nothing is important anymore except for the sensations of skin and teeth and mouths and hands. They are careful with each other; the gentleness that Kurt has long seen peeking out in Dave's more vulnerable moments is on full display, and there are brief seconds of glances and touches and breaths when Kurt thinks he could fall for a third time.

All the pamphlets in the world could not have prepared Kurt for the way it feels, having Dave inside him. He feels whole and safe and loved, and they kiss through tears and hold each other until they both stop trembling. But when Dave's breathing has shallowed out into sleep and Kurt is staring at the ceiling, he thinks that has never felt so alone.

* * *

Carole sends Burt to bed after they watch the ball drop because he's been dozing for the better part of an hour anyway, and she doesn't have to work in the morning so she'll wait up for the boys. Finn's out with Sam and Puck; she doesn't expect him back for a while. Kurt was vague about his plans, but Carole is pretty sure he was going to finish things with Dave.

They had been good for each other, last year. But she wants so much more for Kurt. He deserves someone who loves him, and who he can love, with his whole heart. Not long distance, and not with conditions. At least not now, when he's still so young and really still figuring himself out.

So she'll wait up, because it doesn't matter how right the decision is. Kurt's still going to be hurting when he gets home. He's going to need a mom.

* * *

The living room light is on when Kurt pulls into the driveway, and he thinks about sneaking in the back so he doesn't have to deal with his dad. But it's late, and Finn's car isn't back either, so the light is probably just so neither of them walk into the coffee table or anything. He moves quietly, because he doesn't want to wake his dad and Carole, but as soon as he opens the door he sees Carole, curled up on the couch with a cup of tea and a book.

He holds up his hand in a casual wave, tells Carole "Happy New Year," and starts up the stairs before Carole calls out to him.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah." And it would have been, except his voice cracks in betrayal and he's leaning against the banister, and the tears are coming now, fast and furious. He doesn't even blink before Carole is there next to him on the stairs, smoothing his hair and rubbing soothing circles on his back and whispering to him that everything's going to be okay.

"I made a mistake," he finally stutters.

"Breaking it off?"

"No. Not that."

"Oh. You . . ."

"I slept with him. I mean, I always thought he'd be my first, and I wanted it that way. I _asked_ him to."

"What makes you think it was a mistake?"

"I felt so alone after. Like this big, wonderful, incredible thing had just happened, and I should feel _more_ than that, right?"

"Oh, honey." Carole's words are soft in his ear. "That doesn't mean it was a mistake. It's new. You're still learning what you need and want from your partner. It will get better. The first time is never perfect, even though everyone thinks it should be."

"I didn't expect perfection. I just expected to feel like I mattered after."

He's crying again, because he's been holding on to what his dad told him about sex being a way to feel close to another person. And he's so far away from Dave now, he doesn't know what to do. Maybe there's nothing left to do except keep going.

But not right now. Now he lets Carole be his mom.

* * *

Dave's room is cool and dark, and his bed is empty. The clock on his dresser reads close to 2 am, and Kurt is gone. Gone for the night, gone for good. Dave knows that sex was their goodbye, but he can't help the tiny ache in his chest he felt when he woke up and realized that Kurt had left without a word. He smothers it down, locks it away. The choice has been made, and he can't take any of it back. All he can do is move forward.

He wanders his empty house, and finally settles on the couch with CNN to watch the West Coast ring in 2013. When the ball drops in San Francisco, Dave pulls his phone out and texts Travis.

 _It's done with Kurt._

Bare seconds pass before his phone is lit up with a reply.

 _Okay. You okay?_

Dave thinks about lying, but his hands betray him. _No._

 _I'm sorry. Want to talk?_

Yes. _No._

 _You know where to find me if you do._

Indeed. _Thanks_. _C U when we get back?_

 _You know it._

Dave falls asleep on the couch, lulled by 24-hour news and surprising sadness.

* * *

Kurt is the first of the gang to leave. He's got a cooler with snacks and drinks, and directions to pick Sara up in Pittsburgh. He docks his iPod and sings along to the love songs that always make him cry. When Sara joins him, he switches to Broadway. And when they pull up in front of Calhoun that night, he has to blink twice to make sure he's seeing right. He smiles, and his heartbeat speeds up a little bit.

Toby is waiting.

Kurt hears Carole's voice in his head, reminding him that it's okay to take a chance.

He goes into Toby's arms willingly, and has to stifle a tiny gasp of surprise at the sudden _rightness_ of things.

Maybe what he really needed was right in front of him the whole time.

* * *

It's raining in San Francisco. Dave sits with his head against the cool window of the BART train as it winds through the city and up into Berkeley. He takes in his adopted city with new eyes, because there's nothing tying him to Lima anymore. He needs a fresh start.

He's walking from the BART station, wheeling his suitcase behind him and still two blocks from his dorm, when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

 _U back yet?_ Travis.

 _Walking right now._

 _I'll meet you._

Dave will deny it later, but he walks a little faster. When he finds Travis, when he hears him say _hey, baby_ all soft and slow, Dave is falling fast.

This time he doesn't fight it.


	12. Two Lost Souls Swimming in a Fish Bowl

Two weeks into the spring semester, Kurt officially drops his French minor in favor of the creative writing concentration within the English department. It is easy, really. A piece of paper filled out in triplicate and slipped into a box in the registrar's office on a snowy February Wednesday.

Even so, Toby takes him out for pizza to celebrate.

Kurt laughs at the absurdity of it all, at the stunning realization that he isn't so far outside of things anymore. He has Sara, and the new not-quite-boyfriends-but-slightly-more-than-friends thing with Toby (who is being extraordinarily patient while Kurt gets his shit together), and a fairly small but consistent audience at what Sara has started calling his Thursday Night Piano Bar. He has Friday dinners with the other English kids, and plenty of schoolwork to keep him busy, plus Sunday afternoon phone calls home and weekly conferences on Skype with Mercedes and Tina and Britt.

His days have a rhythm to them, and it feels really good.

As the spring rolls on, Kurt starts making plans for the summer. Toby already has a job lined up at home in Atlanta, and Sara is going back to Pittsburgh, so unless Kurt can find something on campus that will include housing, he supposes he'll be headed back to Lima and Hummel Tires and Lube. That wouldn't be so bad; all of the Glee kids except Rachel will be there, but Kurt wants _more_ than another summer of oil changes and brake jobs and alignments. The week before spring break, he's trolling the job board in the English Department lounge when Brenna comes in to check her box.

"Hey, K."

"Bren."

"Looking for a job?"

"Yeah. Something that will keep me here, if possible. Or, really, anything to keep me out of Ohio for the summer."

"Oh! Really?" Her eyes light up and Kurt is a little scared. Brenna is usually pretty reserved. He actually doesn't think he's ever seen her so excited.

"Yeah." He lets some wariness creep into his voice. "Why?"

"You should come and work with me."

"Doing what?"

"I'm a camp counselor."

"Yeah, _no._ I think I'll pass." He gestures to himself, sticks his hip out and cocks his head in exaggerated gesture. "I'm not really the camp type." He thinks back to the one time his dad signed him up for a week at the Y camp down near Dayton. Kurt spent the whole week crying in his bunk because the only real organized activities were sports.

"Silly, silly boy. Do _I_ look like the camp type?"

Kurt takes Brenna in, from her reddish curls to her baggy sweater and Indian-print skirt, her Birks with thick wool socks and chunky macramé and bead choker.

"I guess not."

"And really, it's not like you'd think. Do you have some time? If you want, come back to my room and I'll tell you all about it."

Toby's got layout for the lit magazine, and last month he hadn't been done until after midnight, and Sara's having dinner with her French study group, so he's free for the night and tells Brenna so.

"Great. C'mon."

Kurt follows her across campus to Saybrook, and up to her fourth floor room. He's never been here before, so he's almost shocked at the riot of color when she opens the door. Purples and greens and oranges and reds, in wall hangings and gauzy scarves and a wildly batiked quilt. A large corkboard above the desk is absolutely covered in pictures. Brenna gestures for Kurt to put his backpack down, and then she ushers him over to the corkboard.

"This is my home, my family."

The pictures tell quite a story. A boy with a guitar, head bent over a songbook; two girls in bathing suits, dripping and smiling with arms around each other's shoulders; wind-swept teenagers on a mountaintop against a blue sky. A group of kids on a stage, singing. Brenna, sitting shoulder to shoulder with two guys and a girl on a stretch of fence. Kurt is about to turn away when one picture tucked into a bottom corner catches his eye. Three very young boys huddled together in the orange light of a campfire that's shooting sparks into the purple light of dusk. They're holding sticks, and pieces of paper, and they're all crying. He lets his finger linger at the edge of the picture and sighs before turning to Brenna.

"Tell me about this place."

What he learns over the next hour intrigues him. A place where kids can be creative without competition, where difference is cherished, and where most of the counselors had been campers there themselves. But he has some concerns, the biggest of which is that he's never worked with kids before and that he really isn't qualified to teach anything.

Brenna waves him off.

"You play piano and sing. I know for a fact that the guy they hired to run drama this year doesn't play. Or sing. Let me at least talk to Abby. She's the program director, and she was my cabin counselor for two years when I was a camper. Actually." She holds up her finger and pulls out her cell. "Let me call her right now."

She dials, and starts talking mere seconds after putting the phone to her ear. "Abs! Yeah. Hey, have you found anyone yet to back Nate up in Drama?" Pause. "Maybe. This kid I know at school. He's good. Really good. Has this little underground following on campus, and he's a total sweetheart." Pause. "Hold on." She covers the phone with her hand and looks at Kurt.

"Could you get up to Providence this weekend to meet with her?"

Wow. Deep breath. "I guess. Sure. Yes."

Brenna nods, and starts talking again. "Yeah, no problem. Thanks, Abs. See you then."

When she hangs up the phone, she nods at Kurt. "Saturday at 2. I can drive, if you want."

Kurt still isn't 100% sure what just happened, but he nods his assent anyway.

* * *

Abby is about Brenna's height, a couple of inches shorter than Kurt. She's bubbly and warm, and doesn't seem all that concerned that Kurt has never worked with kids before. "Oh, most of our new counselors are first-timers," she assures him. "The majority of our staff has some kind of a connection to camp before they arrive, but you'll fit right in."

"Uh. If you say so." Kurt's been in enough new situations to know that's rarely the case, but he doesn't say so. Abby laughs at his unease, but not in a mean way. She has a nice laugh. It's like her voice, rich and full, and Kurt wonders absently if she sings.

"So you play piano."

"13 years of lessons." Talking about music makes Kurt feel more comfortable, so he relaxes a bit into the sofa where he's sitting with Brenna. "I also sing. I was in show choir in high school, and we won Nationals last year."

"Impressive."

"Thanks."

"So would you be able to give piano lessons, and play for the camp musicals, and maybe give the occasional voice lesson?"

Kurt says yes, because piano is as easy as breathing for him, and he figures he can't be any worse a vocal coach than Mr. Schue was. "As long as you understand that I'm really just a recreational singer."

"We're not one of those intense performing arts places, Kurt. We're low-key. The most important thing is that you're supportive and patient."

"Okay. I could do that, then. But you need to know something. I'm gay."

"No shit."

Kurt can't help himself. He laughs, hard and loud, mostly because he's used to people tiptoeing around his sexuality like it's going to bite them. He shakes his head at Abby. "I'm sorry. It's just, people are really funny about it, so I figured I'd put it all out on the table."

Abby smiles sideways at him, and nods at Brenna. "Tell him about Seth."

Brenna looks Kurt square in the eye. "Seth is a CIT now. Or, he will be this year. When he was 8, he dressed in drag for the end of summer banquet and dance. He came out last summer. Nobody cares, Kurt. That's the beauty of camp."

"But the parents-"

Abby jumps in. "Our kids are the kids who don't really fit in the world. But they come to camp and they have a place. And they're happy, and write glowing letters home, and cry on the last day. And spend all winter talking about how they can't wait to come back. We keep the kids safe, give them a place to shine. The parents love us. And they honestly don't care if you're gay."

Kurt sits with that while Abby goes to the kitchen to refill his water glass. When she comes back, she's humming under her breath. Kurt catches the tune as she hands over his glass, an old James Taylor song his mom used to sing when she washed dishes or folded laundry, and before he realizes it he's singing along.

_Goodnight, you moonlight ladies_

_Rockabye sweet baby James_

_Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose_

_Won't you let me go down in my dreams . . ._

Softly, but clearly loud enough for Abby to hear. She wraps her hand around his wrist, and looks at him, and he wishes that he were able to think about his mother without crying, even all these years later.

"Oh, baby, you _have_ to come to camp. You need it. It'll start to heal your soul."

Kurt hides his broken spirit well. His dad sees it, and Dave used to. To have this woman see it, after a mere half hour of talking and a few song lyrics? That's something different, and maybe special, and Kurt feels like he has no choice any more. He says yes.

* * *

That night, skin-to-skin with Toby in his too-small bed, he's safe and warm with his back against Toby's chest, Toby's arms tight around him.

"I got the job," he whispers into the dark.

"At Brenna's camp?"

"Yeah. You know about it?"

"She talks about it all the time, like its paradise or something. Are you sure it's for you?"

Kurt's silent, taking in the hint of doubt in Toby's voice and what is being left unsaid, that Kurt is maybe too many things to be able to fit in at a summer camp. But he thinks about how it felt when Abby looked at him, and at the slight flutter in his heart when she made it clear that the job was his for the taking, and he knows that he's never been more sure of anything.

"Oddly, yes. I think it's probably the best thing for me right now." He hadn't been, until he said so, but it makes a funny kind of sense.

"Okay." He can feel Toby nodding, can hear the gentle confidence in his voice. "If you're sure, then it's the right decision." He laughs softly into Kurt's hair. "I'll have great fun sending you care packages."

"I'd like that."

Toby presses a gentle kiss at the nape of Kurt's neck, and Kurt shivers into Toby's whisper. "Let's not talk about the summer right now."

Kurt rolls over and kisses Toby, full and hot. By the time Toby is pressing into him, hard and heavy, Kurt isn't thinking about anything at all.

* * *

Dave feels like a complete poser.

He's at an impossibly crowded round table in a corner of the cavernous dining commons, and every time someone else shows up, everyone scoots over an inch or two and the new arrival pulls up a chair. They've all dispensed with their trays, so the table is a jumble of plates and plastic cups of soda and crumpled napkins. And Dave just sits back and listens, and tries to ignore the effect Travis' hand on his thigh is having.

Being Travis' boyfriend has suddenly landed Dave in the middle of the campus power chasm. Travis is not just the chair of the GLBTA, he's also on his class council and student government, and he's friends with student leaders from scores of groups, which is why they regularly eat meals with 15 or 20 other people. It's exhausting, and fascinating, and it makes Dave feel both included and oddly left out. None of it makes Dave popular, but it does make him less invisible.

He's zoned out, mind on his Econ test tomorrow and _damn_ Travis and his freaking _hand_ , because it's warm even through the thick fabric of Dave's jeans, when he's snapped back to earth at someone across the table muttering what sounds to Dave like "bullying."

"What about bullying?" He's upright, arms crossed in front of him on the table, Travis' hand a forgotten afterthought. Stacey, who does something with student government, sweeps her bangs out of her eyes and looks at him with exasperation.

"We're working with the school district, getting students to go into schools and talk about bullying."

"Oh." Dave's kept a lot of his past a secret, even from Travis. Parts of it are embarrassing. He doesn't want people here to think of him the way he still thinks of himself sometimes. But he's intrigued by what Stacey is saying, how they want to have kids who were bullied _and_ kids who did the bullying. Dave lets out a snort, thinking that if he were to go and give a talk they wouldn't need a second person. He could cover both sides with stories to spare. He's still trying to formulate what he wants to say when the conversation turns again, like it does with these kids because they are _so_ smart and _so_ fast, and even though Dave is pretty smart he sometimes just can't keep up. So he sits back again in his chair and waits. After, when the table is cleared and Travis has headed off to his afternoon seminar, Dave catches up with Stacey on the steps of the commons.

"Tell me more about the bullying program."

"Why?"

Stacey is always blunt with him, like she sees something in him that she doesn't like, or like she knows he really doesn't belong with their group.

"Because I've been there."

"Of course you were." Of course she would think that, because Dave's big and looks like a bully.

"I was a bully, yes. But I was also bullied."

"Why?"

" _Why_?"

"Yeah. Why were you bullied?"

"Are you serious?"

She just looks at him like she's waiting for something. He takes a deep breath around his annoyance, and levels his voice low so he doesn't put on a show for half the campus. "I was bullied for being a queer in a small town, okay?"

"Okay. And you were a bully why?"

"I was a bully because I was a closeted queer in a small town."

"Ah." She holds his gaze then, and her face is softer than it's ever been with him, almost like she maybe respects him a little bit. Or approves of him. "We're having a training with some people from the district tomorrow afternoon in the SGA office. Can you be there at 4?"

"Yeah."

"OK. See you there." She's turned away and headed down the stairs when Dave reaches out and grabs the sleeve of her sweater.

"Stacey!"

"What?"

"Travis."

"What about him?"

"He doesn't know. Not yet." He lets his guard down, pleads at her with his eyes. She catches his stare and holds it for a moment before nodding and turning away again.

His _thank you_ is lost in the wind.

* * *

Dave is sunk into Travis' beanbag chair with his Econ book, trying to study for his test, but he's distracted by the way Travis is chewing on the end of his highlighter as he works his way through his Politics reading on the bed.

The silence is companionable. Dave likes these hours, the ones just between them, when they can take study breaks that leave them both breathless, and when they don't have to be on display for anyone else. Dave sets his book aside and crosses the room to the bed, where he perches on the edge and snakes a hand under the hem of Travis' t-shirt.

"Trav?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

"I think I'm going to do Stacey's anti-bullying thing. With the schools?"

"Yeah?" Travis' voice is vague, the way it gets when he's trying to listen to Dave and stay engaged in his work at the same time.

"Yeah. Hey. Can you stop reading for a second, please. This is kind of important."

Travis tucks his highlighter between the pages and closes the book before sitting up to look at Dave.

"What's up?"

"If I'm going to do the program, I need to tell you some things first."

"O-okay."

"Things you might not like to hear. But I need you to understand all of it."

"What is it?"

"I used to be a bully. Before Kurt, before I was out, before I was bullied myself."

"Why?"

"Why did I do it? Lots of reasons, but mostly to belong. And then I started thinking I might be gay, and I was scared, so I kept doing it. And then I got really scared, and I targeted Kurt."

"So what happened?"

"Do you want the long version or the short one?"

"Short. Please." Travis takes his glasses off and rubs at his eyes, like Dave's confession is giving him a headache.

"So he changed schools, and I started letting my guard down, and a girl who thought she could rule the world figured me out and blackmailed me. Kurt came back to school, and then he and I were voted Prom Queen and King."

"What the hell kind of school did you go to? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"Yeah. Well. The short of it is that he was there for me when nobody else was. When I didn't deserve his kindness."

"He's a bigger person than I would be."

Dave can't argue that Travis is probably right about that; he knows he got so incredibly lucky when Kurt became his friend. He can't tell Travis that Kurt is special, will always be special, so he doesn't say anything. He lets Travis pick the conversation back up.

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Because it's not something I'm proud of, and I didn't want you to look at me the way you're looking at me now, like I'm some kind of monster or something."

Travis is quick to talk. "No. That's not what I'm thinking at all. I just . . ."

"What?"

"I guess I just can't see that in you at all. You come across so put-together and comfortable with yourself."

"I am. Now. But I was a scared 16 year old once."

Travis pulls him down onto the bed, holds him and smoothes at his hair. "Thank you for telling me. For trusting me."

"I'm not that kid anymore."

"I know. It's okay."

Dave can tell from the way Travis is touching him that what seem like motions to soothe him are really motions to soothe _Travis_. It's far from okay. But he doesn't say anything about that, either.

* * *

They pointedly _don't talk_ about lots of things after that. Dave's ongoing training with the school district, or Travis' study abroad next semester, or plans for the summer. Especially not plans for the summer. Dave knows that Travis has _obligations_ back home, some kind of a job his uncle or somebody set up for him, and Dave isn't going to fight about it. But he wants more, because if he goes home his entire summer will be distilled down to avoiding Kurt, hiding from his distant father in his own house, and running a check stand at the Safeway.

Again.

He hates the fucking Safeway.

As March turns to April, Dave is going twice a week to the high school mere blocks from campus, where he and another Berkeley student run anti-bullying workshops. He is surprised to discover that he loves it. He's close enough in age to the kids to have a measure of credibility. He sees the way they listen when he talks, and it's not because he's a hotshot college kid. It's because he was where they are now; he's been scared and silent and angry, but he's also been beaten down and terrified.

He doesn't just love the program, it turns out that he's really _good_ at it, and that makes him pretty happy.

He's riding the high off a particularly good workshop on a Wednesday afternoon, humming some Aerosmith under his breath as he crosses the parking lot on his way back to campus when he hears someone calling his name. He turns to see Alicia, the school counselor, doggedly trying to catch up with him. He stops and walks back towards her, because she's wearing heels and he thinks that making her run any farther and faster than necessary would just be cruel.

"Oh, Dave. Thank you. What are your plans for the summer?"

"Oh. Um." Admitting that he doesn't have any is kind of lame, so he mumbles about Lima and the Safeway, and then adds that nothing is really set in stone yet, because he was hoping to stay in the city. "But I haven't found anything yet. Why?"

"You seem to be enjoying your work with the program."

"I am. It's, um, important to me?" _A way to atone, to give back, to save a kid_.

"I can tell. Listen. We've had a lot of success with the pilot program here, and I'm working with some of the other counselors to implement it in more schools in the fall. I'm looking for a student intern, and I think you'd be perfect."

"No offense, but why me? I mean, Stacey has been the force behind things on campus, and the other kids . . ."

"Dave." Alicia is looking at him with intensity, and it makes him nervous so he turns away a fraction of an inch. Just enough to keep her gaze out of his eyes. "You have a real rapport with the kids, and your experiences are invaluable. Because you can speak to what a school should do to reach the bullies, and also what a school needs to do to help the victims."

"Maybe we're all victims, in the end." He's not sure where that comes from, so he doesn't elaborate. Even so, he can tell he's piqued Alicia's interest.

"You might be right. Anyway. You don't have to answer me right now. Think on it. The district will pay a small stipend, and it is a job that would continue into next school year. Whatever you decide, let me know next week. But Dave?"

"Yeah?"

"I really think you should do it."

"I'll let you know on Monday."

"Great."

He knows before he's even reached the sidewalk that he's probably going to say yes.

* * *

That night, Dave waits until he and Travis are sated and slightly sleepy and tucked into Travis' bed before telling him about the job offer. He can feel Travis stiffen against him, but Dave isn't sure why; it's not like they had plans for the summer or anything, and the program is Dave's thing anyway, so he finally says something.

"Why does my taking the job bother you so much?"

"It's not the job." Dave is kind of surprised by the coolness of Travis' voice.

"Is it that I didn't tell you about my past before?"

"No."

"What, then?"

"Because it all comes back to Kurt. You told me it was over between the two of you."

"It _is._ Jeez." Dave rolls onto his side, sits up, and plants his feet on the floor. This is going badly on so many levels. "None of this is about him."

"Come off it, Dave. It's all about him. Because he was your target, and then your friend. And I still can't understand how he could _date_ you after all of that. And now you go and do these workshops, where you talk about _him_ all the time. He's always going to have this weird kind of pull on you. It's never going to be over."

"Kurt is an important part of my past. But he's in my past, Trav."

"I just . . . I feel like I can't live up to what you had with him."

"Oh, Christ."

"You think I'm being irrational."

"You _are_ being irrational. I'm with you now."

"Do you love me?"

They haven't talked about love at all. Ever. Dave isn't sure what to say, so he just sits there on the edge of the bed in silence. Because even if he were pressed to do it, he can't lie and say he loves Travis. So he says nothing.

"I guess that's that, then." Travis' voice is hard. "I can't compete with him. Not the actuality of him, and certainly not the memory of him."

Dave knows where this is going now, so he's halfway across the room and pulling on his clothes when Travis chokes out what Dave has expected since the night he talked about the bullying.

"I can't do this. It's not going to work."

Dave's not particularly sad, or mad. He's a little stunned as he fumbles with his sneakers, and makes sure that all of the little things he's accumulated in Travis' room are tucked into his backpack before he escapes into the hall. As he walks back to his dorm, he feels startlingly free, like he'd been trapped in Travis' world and hadn't even realized it.

He's definitely taking the job now.

* * *

Abby assigns Kurt the youngest boys, the 8 and 9 year old first time campers. He'll have six of them in the tiny cabin. It feels like a fishbowl, and he can't imagine what it's going to be like when it's filled with clothes and bedding and little-boy energy. But he has a whole week to get used to it, and the other staff, as they work to get the cabins and other buildings ready for the summer.

It's different from other work he's done, more physical even than working for his dad; there are mattresses to air, and buoys to set down at the waterfront, and on the third day a truck backs its way down the field, and suddenly there's fresh sawdust to spread on the paths that run from the main barn down through the boys and girls sections to the waterfront. Kurt is surprised to discover that he really likes being there. Abby was right, everyone is incredibly inclusive, and there are three other first-time counselors who are in his same boat. They start off as their own little group, but it takes less than a day for everyone else to make them feel welcome. By the night before the campers arrive, Kurt knows all the words to all the most popular camp songs, and Brenna has helped him fashion a job wheel out of a thumbtack and two paper plates. He's sung his heart out at the staff campfire, and said a mildly flirty goodnight to Rob, the definitely gay co-director of the CIT program. Kurt doesn't think Rob is seriously interested, and Kurt doesn't see how flirting will hurt anything. Everyone is really handsy with each other, anyway, with no regard to sexual orientation. And it's not like he and Toby swore each other to exclusivity or anything. They're casual at best, more of a friends with benefits situation than any kind of true love, really.

He falls asleep almost instantly once he slides into the cocoon of his flannel sheets, wool blanket, and down sleeping bag.

He's woken by the bell the next morning, and when he's awake enough to open his eyes, he can see his breath. _Damn_. He dresses quickly, eats a hurried breakfast, and all but races to the camp office to try and snag five minutes to check his email. There's no cell reception to speak of, and while Kurt's a big fan of letters, there are some things that are better left to email. He logs in to his Yale account first, and skims messages from Mercedes and Rachel and Artie on the Glee email list that Rachel set up after Christmas. He types a swift reply, warning about limited email access and giving everyone his actual mailing address at the camp. Then he logs into his personal account and shoots off a breezy message to Carole. And then he takes a deep breath, opens a new message, and starts typing.

**Dave-**

**I don't know what your summer plans are, or where you are, which is why I'm sending this to both your school and personal email accounts.**

**If you're going home to Lima, you don't have to worry about seeing me there. I'm working with a friend from school at a camp in New Hampshire. I won't really have access to my email, but if you want to have contact, you can send letters to the address below.**

**I think of you often. You were a big part of my life, and an important one. I hope this finds you well and happy, wherever you are.**

**Much love,**

**Kurt**

He clicks send before he can second guess himself, logs off, and goes back to the cabin to get ready to meet his campers.

* * *

It makes his commute longer, but Dave takes a summer sublet in a Castro two-bedroom with a San Francisco State student whose roommate is going abroad for the summer. He takes the BART into Berkeley every morning, plugged into his iPod or with his nose in a book like all the other commuters. Some of the work is dull; there's a lot of paperwork, what Dave thinks of as busy work and Alicia refers to as "administrative bullshit". Sometimes he tags along to meetings, where he talks about his high school experiences to counselors and principals. He'd rather work with the students, but that will come when school is back in session. For now, he really can't complain because he only works four days a week and unless he's going to a meeting he gets to wear shorts and t-shirts. He spends his weekends discovering his new neighborhood. By the middle of June, he has a coffee shop and a Chinese restaurant, and is a weekly regular at the gay and lesbian bookstore down the street from the apartment. He's excited for his first Pride weekend. He'd never expected it, but he's actually happy.

The morning of the Pride parade, Dave's up early because he wants to grab a latté before he heads down to find a prime watching spot. As is his habit, he logs into his email while he's dressing, and he just about falls over when his inbox flashes up with a new message.

From Kurt.

He lets his mouse hover over the check box as he debates simply deleting it, but he can't. Instead, he opens it and skims it, and doesn't really register anything until his eye catches an address at the bottom of the page. It doesn't make sense, so he scrolls back up to the top and actually reads the whole thing.

Kurt at a summer camp? No shit. Dave would pay good money to see that.

He prints the message for the address, and starts composing a letter in his head while he slips into shorts and a tank top. He thinks maybe he'll need to stop for some note paper or something on his way home from the parade.

* * *

_June 28th_

_Dear Kurt-_

_Thanks for your email. I think about you often, as well._

_I'm living in the Castro this summer, which is kind of wild. And you're never going to believe it, but I'm an intern for a new anti-bullying program with the Berkeley Unified School District. It's a good job, but it's a little dry right now, lots of meetings and paperwork and shit like that. I really like working with the kids during the school year. I feel like I have something to offer them, you know?_

_I was surprised to read that you're working at a camp. I'd love to hear more about it. It's funny, though, because even though I can't picture you actually at a camp, I think you'd be a good counselor. If that makes sense._

_Anyway. It was great to hear from you. Write back if you have time._

_Love_

_Dave_

* * *

**July 1st**

**Dear Dave-**

**I am, frankly, surprised that you wrote back. I'm also happy. Thank you.**

**The camp is small, arts based. I have six boys in my cabin, all first time campers. They're 8 and 9 years old, still babies in so many respects. But they're good kids, most of the time.**

**I'm teaching piano and voice lessons, and play for the camp musical. This session it's Oklahoma!, and the kids are amazing.**

**It's funny. I never would have picked this for myself, but I'm having a really good time. Like I said, the kids are incredible. They're so much like we were, all just looking for something, a place to fit. Even Ian, this shy little mouse of a boy in my cabin, isn't so shy and mousy any more and it's only been a week. This place is good for them. And for me, too, I think.**

**I'm glad you like your job. It's not something I would have seen you doing, but the more I think about it the more I realize that you must excellent, especially with the kids. I guess we're kind of even, now. Go us, for stepping out of our boxes.**

**It's kind of like when we used to challenge each other.**

**Anyway, I'm rambling, and rest hour is almost over. I'll have you know I sacrificed my afternoon nap to write to you. No matter. It's time well spent.**

**Write soon.**

**Love,**

**Kurt**

* * *

_July 6th_

_Dear Kurt-_

_Stepping out of boxes is a good thing. I think we should be proud of ourselves._

_Do you hear from any of the old gang? I feel a little cut off, because I didn't go home for the summer, but Lauren of all people emails me quite a bit. It sounds like everything is the same old, same old in Lima. I don't miss it._

_I picked up a new book today, one of those damn romances you got me addicted to. I kind of hate you for that, you know. Anyway, it made me think of you. If you want, I can send it when I'm done with it, so you can have something to read._

_I'm not sure what to write about, because work is nothing exciting. I'm sitting at my favorite coffee shop right now, being flirted with by the barista and watching tourists wandering around. Sometimes it feels like we're on display or something, "the gays in their native environment" or whatever. But I love the Castro. It has a different energy than Berkeley, and if the commute weren't such a bitch I'd probably stay here for the rest of my time in school. You'll have to come out here someday. I'd love to play tour guide._

_Well. I've rambled enough. Did your camp do anything special for Fourth of July? I went to a cookout with my roommate._

_Write soon._

_Love,_

_Dave_

* * *

**July 11th**

**Dear Dave-**

**Thanks for the generous offer of the book. I don't have a lot of time to read, but a romance would be a real treat.**

**Rachel set up an email list. Are you not on it? Anyway, everyone is back in Lima except for you and me and Rachel. She's staying in the city to take some classes and audition for stuff. She doesn't miss it. I do, a little bit, but mostly because I miss my family. Carole sends me a care package every week, and she always puts little toys and treats in for me to share with my boys. She's such a mom. I'm lucky to have her, and Finn. Dad and I both are.**

**We're halfway through the session, so things are really getting busy. I have a handful of piano students, though lessons here are pretty informal, and we usually spend most of the time talking. That's what slays me. These kids are all bright and talented, but so closed off from people. I remember being like that. I still am like that, more than I'd like to admit. But you know, kids are really good at cutting through the crap. So my kids come for their lessons, and we play a little bit and talk a lot, and nobody cares. Sometimes, in the afternoons, Brenna and I will co-teach a writing class. That's always a lot of fun, because it turns out that Bren is a huge goof-ball, and she always picks the best writing prompts for the kids. They come up with some really funny stuff.**

**Flirting with the barista? Somehow I think that Travis would not approve. How is he, by the way?**

**I'd love to see San Francisco someday. With you.**

**Fourth of July was a regular day at camp, but we did have a cookout and ice cream, and some very illegal sparklers. Hope your cookout was fun.**

**Write soon.**

**Love**

**Kurt**

* * *

_July 15th_

_Dear Kurt-_

_Here is the book I promised. I hope you don't mind, I tucked a few more goodies into the box._

_Travis and I broke up in the spring. It wasn't working, for lots of reasons that are too much to go into in a letter. When you get out to San Fran, I'll buy you a mocha and tell you all about it. It's okay, though. It was never going to go anywhere serious. How is Toby?_

_I'm glad that you're a safe person for the kids to talk to. That's important. I wonder, sometimes, thinking about your magical sounding camp, what we would have been like if we'd had a place like that as kids._

_The cookout was okay. Hot boys and lots of booze. A little much for me. But the fireworks that night were spectacular. I'm sorry all you got were sparklers._

_Enjoy the book, and the goodies._

_Love_

_Dave_

* * *

**July 21st**

**Dear Dave-**

**Thank you for the books, and for the cookies and the Mad Libs. The boys have been having endless hours of fun with them. I've been reading them a chapter of James and the Giant Peach every night before lights out; I do voices for the different characters. They boys love it, and have been telling their friends in other cabins about it. Apparently, everyone else is a little jealous because none of the other counselors read to their kids. So thank you.**

**I'm sorry to hear that things didn't work out with Travis. He seemed like a good guy. Toby and I are sort of friends with benefits. No strings. He's a good friend, and fun, but we both know it's never going to be a forever thing. I never thought I'd want casual, but it's for the best for both of us right now. And if one of us meets someone, we'll be fine as friends.**

**You'd be surprised how much fun sparklers can be, especially at a place like this.**

**The musical goes up on Thursday night. We'll do two performances, and then we have the changeover weekend between sessions. The show is really coming together, but things are getting busy so if you don't get a letter back quickly, don't worry. I'm fine, we're fine, I'll just be sucked into a vortex.**

**I think if we'd had a place like this, we'd be completely different people. This would have been great, but I kind of like who I am, and can't imagine being any different. That said, this place changes you. I needed it. I didn't realize it, but I did.**

**Thanks again for everything. The boys wanted me to send you one of their favorite Mad Lib efforts as a thank you.**

**Take care.**

**Love,**

**Kurt**

* * *

_July 26th_

_Dear Kurt-_

_Ha ha ha. You have some funny, funny boys in your cabin. I'm glad to see they're putting the Mad Libs to good (if somewhat inappropriate) use, and that you all are enjoying James. It was one of my favorites when I was a kid. If you finish it and want something else, let me know._

_I never would have picked you for casual anything, but I suppose that just goes to show how we've changed. Even so, Toby sounds like a good egg, and I'm glad you have him for a friend, no matter what happens with the other stuff. Is there more family at your camp?_

_Are all of your boys going home? I'm guessing that means you get a whole group of newbies, huh?_

_I won't keep you, I know you're busy. Write when you can, and good luck with everything._

_Love,_

_Dave_

* * *

**July 30th**

**Dear Dave-**

**The play went well. The parents loved it, and the kids who weren't in the show were so incredibly supportive of the ones who were.**

**Changeover weekend was hard. Two of my boys stayed on, so now I have four new kiddos. They're adjusting well, and are nice kids. The dynamic in the cabin is different, a little mellower than last session. But saying goodbye to the ones who left, and two my piano girls who also went home, that was brutal. You've never seen anything like it, kids hugging and crying and not caring that anyone is watching them. It made me cry, of course. Now I understand what Brenna meant when she called this place her home, and these people her family; I never would have believed it. Leaving is going to be hard.**

**The new musical is West Side Story. Our Tony is quite good. Our Maria needs a little work.**

**There is some family here; the co-director of the CIT program, and one of the CITs for sure, but there are a few others I suspect. I had a CIT come out to me yesterday, which took all of her piano lesson time and the better part of my free period, and my favorite sweatshirt as a comfort object.**

**Seriously, girls are weird. And it's been raining, and now I'm without my sweatshirt.**

**But I digress. Other than you, I've never had anyone come out to me before. Not their first time. So I'm kind of honored, and now I feel like I need to be her fairy godfather or something, which is a little mind-blowing and a crazy kind of responsibility, because I'm only four years older than she is. Thoughts?**

**Write soon. I look forward to your letters.**

**Love,**

**Kurt**

* * *

_August 4th_

_Dear Kurt-_

_Wow. I've never had anybody come out to me, so I can't really speak to that at all. Just be there for her, I guess. Like you were there for me._

_Girls are weird. You do realize you're never getting that sweatshirt back, right?_

_I figured you had to be done with James by now, so I've included a variation on a theme. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is great. And before you go telling me how you've seen the movie a million times, both of them, the book is 200 times better. Trust me._

_There's also something in here to keep you warm and dry. Keep it as long as you need; there's only one caveat: you have to return it in person._

_Love_

_Dave_

* * *

**August 9th**

**Dear Dave-**

**Thanks. For the book, and for your sweatshirt. It's perfect.**

**And I know I'll sound like a stupid lovesick teenager when I say that part of what is perfect about it is that it smells like your aftershave.**

**I'm really glad you can't see me blushing.**

**I'll be back in Lima at the end of the month, for just a couple of days between camp and going back to school. Is there any chance I'll get to see you?**

**Love,**

**Kurt**

* * *

_August 13th_

_Dear Kurt_

_I won't be back in Lima probably until Christmas. Things are still challenging with my dad, and I don't really feel connected to anything there. Not anymore._

_You must be coming to the end of the session soon. What, next week?_

_Keep me updated on how everything turns out._

_Love_

_Dave_

* * *

**August 18**  
 **th**

**Dear Dave-**

**The session ends on Saturday, and then we have to stick around until Tuesday to close up for the winter. So, don't send any more mail here, because it may not arrive until after I'm gone. If you want to send anything, you can send it to my dad's house. I won't be back at Yale until Labor Day.**

**How about you? When does your sublet end?**

**I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable with my last letter. You know how my filter gets sometimes, and I think its worse in writing. This just feels more intimate, you know?**

**Anyway, by this time next week I'll be back in civilization. Maybe we could actually talk, if you want.**

**Oh! By the way, you were right about Charlie. None of the boys have ever read the book, and I'm a little ashamed to admit that I hadn't, either. We're collectively savoring every word, though I'm going to have to read extra each night to finish it before camp ends.**

**Love,**

**Kurt**

* * *

Dave leaves Kurt's last letter open on his dresser for two days before he decides what to do. Writing letters all summer felt safe, like a good way to rebuild their friendship. But then there were the packages, and the damn sweatshirt. And what made him say that Kurt had to return it in person? That was probably the dumbest-ass thing Dave had _ever_ done, and he'd done a _lot_ of stupid shit.

So the letter just sits there, and Dave waits.

Then, on Saturday, he's just poking in and out of the shops in the neighborhood, looking for nothing and hoping to find everything, when a postcard catches his eye. It's one he's never seen before. It's a nighttime photo, and Dave can barely make out the cable car wires and the hint of buildings against a crowd of people with candles. For miles, it looks like. When he flips the card over, the information reads "Candlelight vigil for slain Supervisor Harvey Milk and Mayor George Moscone, November 27, 1978."

Dave buys two.

When he gets home, he tucks the first into the book he's reading, to serve as a bookmark. He writes a brief message on the back of the second, and then sits down and writes Kurt an equally brief note on a piece of printer paper. He folds the paper around the postcard and slides both paper and card into an envelope that he addresses to Kurt, in care of his dad's address in Lima. If Dave is lucky, all of it will arrive before Kurt does.

* * *

Kurt stands in the parking lot with his bags in a pile at his feet. Abby and Brenna and Rob are huddled with him, all of them sniffly and red-eyed from crying, and from the lack of sleep caused by the free-for-all of barbeque and campfire and wine and singing that went on well into the morning hours. But Kurt can't linger any longer; if he wants to make Lima by dinner tomorrow, he has to get going. He's said the rest of his goodbyes; the hardest ones were his kids, anyway. But he turns to Rob just the same, and gets a bear hug and a peck on the cheek and a whisper in his ear: "You know where to find me if you ever get over that boy of yours". Kurt just smacks Rob lightly on the shoulder and smiles before Brenna and Abby grab him between them and hold him close.

"You'll always have a place here, kiddo." Abby's arms are strong, but her voice is shaking.

"Thank you. I didn't know I needed this."

"I did. Come back to us next year."

Kurt can't think of any way he'd rather spend next summer, so he nods into Abby's hair.

Brenna isn't really crying, and Kurt doesn't really say goodbye to her, because he'll see her on campus in a couple of weeks. But they cling to each other just the same for a few minutes before Kurt tosses his bags into the back of the car. He climbs up into the driver's seat and settles in. Docks his iPod and scrolls through to the playlist Brenna made for him yesterday after they had finished bringing all the canoes in. "Camp, 2013", with enough music to keep him occupied for a few hours at least. He pulls out of the parking lot and waves to the three of them. He knows they'll stand there and watch until they can't see his car any more.

* * *

Wednesday night, he rolls into Lima just on the edge of dinner time. The air is hot and heavy and not at all what he wants, but he's missed his family so fucking much that he hasn't been able to breathe since he hit Columbus.

He parks in front of the house because his dad's truck and Carole's Subaru and Finn's Honda are parked haphazardly. He decides that his bags can wait until morning, but he does grab his backpack before locking the doors and heading inside. He hugs his dad and Carole and Finn, and then makes excuses about needing a shower before dinner. He's halfway up the stairs when Carole calls his name. He looks at her, and sees that she's holding an envelope.

"This came for you today. It doesn't have a return address."

But Kurt can see the writing, knows it's from Dave, and his heart speeds up a little bit.

"Thanks, Carole."

He takes the envelope and waits until he's in his room with the door closed before sliding his finger under the flap. When he opens the paper, a postcard flutters to the floor. He reads the letter first.

_August 23_  
 _rd_

_Dear Kurt-_

_You didn't make me uncomfortable. I was worried that I'd made you uncomfortable._

_Anyway, I was wondering if we could keep writing letters instead of the phone or email. I kind of like it. You're right, it feels intimate._

_I've missed being your friend._

_I'm back to the dorm at the end of the week, so you can start using my Berkeley address again._

_I found this postcard and thought of you._

_Love,_

_Dave_

Kurt leans over and picks the card up. He recognizes the front image right away. When he turns it over, he's startled to see that Dave has written on the back.

_I'm not, and never will be, sorry for loving you._

Kurt lies back on his bed and sighs. He closes his eyes against images from the past, of coffee dates and movies and the gentle press of Dave's hand at the small of his back or the back of his neck, or soft against his cheek. Of that December night when Dave kissed him for real. Of the echo of his whisper, _I'm not sorry_.

Kurt feels oddly peaceful. He lets the postcard rest against his chest as he whispers his own prayer into his darkening bedroom.

_I'm not sorry, either._


	13. The Things We Carry

At first, the letters come once a week. Then two and three times, and sometimes with small packages. When Dave gets a letter in the middle of September that's bursting with excitement because Kurt got into an a cappella group, he resists the urge to call in congratulations. Instead, he buys and sends a funny card.

The first email has a timestamp very early in the morning the day after Halloween, and it has three pictures attached, of Kurt at a campus dance in his silver Lady Gaga dress and those impossible shoes. _It was Toby's idea. Needless to say, I was unqualified hit of the Drag Ball._ Dave takes the bait, and sends back a single sentence in reply: _you look good in that dress_.

They still write letters after that, but not as many and not as long, because the emails fly fast and furious. Three a day over Thanksgiving, when Kurt's still on campus and Dave is back in Chicago and the same at Christmas because Dave's dad finally took the job transfer he'd been offered three times while Dave was in high school and moved to a condo in Columbus; the weather makes driving dangerous, and Dave isn't sure he's ready to be face to face with Kurt yet, anyway.

Dave gets congratulations card of his own in April when he finds out he's gotten an RA position for junior year.

The summer comes, and it's back to letters because Kurt is off at camp again, only this time they're not as guarded or careful with each other. Lots of Kurt's letters are flirty, and Dave doesn't even think about it before he flirts right back.

Kurt's been fighting the urge for months. There were so many times he just wanted to hear Dave's voice, but he didn't want to push too far or too fast. So he held back, putting his energy into letters and emails instead. But now, it's all too much.

Dave's package, battered and covered with air mail stamps and customs clearances, was waiting for him in the student center this afternoon. It was exactly what Kurt would have expected: hot chocolate packets, a box of Oreos, and two gently read gay romances. And a surprise, a clipping from a San Francisco paper about the anti-bullying program Dave worked for with a picture and a brief interview with Dave. Kurt is proud of Dave, and thankful for a little taste of home, but he's had a crap day and the gentle kindness of the package and its contents send him over the edge into tears.

He holds off until it is close to 3 am in Dublin. The late hour is nothing new for him. He'd had trouble adjusting to the time difference, and now he's so achingly lonely all the time that his tendency towards insomnia is raging. He knows that Dave is the only one who won't judge him, so he brings up the contact and dials before he can think too hard about it.

Dave answers on the third ring, and Kurt can hear voices and music in the background. He excuses himself to somebody, and then there is a whisper of footsteps, the click of a door closing, and blissful silence. Dave's voice is a little deeper, more mature, and full of concern. It sends shivers down Kurt's spine to his feet.

There is so much he wants to say, but he can't get anything out beyond _please just talk to me_.

So Dave talks to him, about nonsense and nothing, until he falls asleep.

Dave wants to meet Kurt at the airport in Columbus, but Kurt refuses. The connection is staticky, and Dave can hear the commotion in the terminal at Heathrow, but he can also hear something in Kurt's voice. Apprehension, a touch of fear, a desperate wanting to do things right this time.

"We're not there yet," Kurt tells him, and Dave kind of knows he's right, so he doesn't push. It just kind of hurts that they're going to be so close, and yet so far.

But he deals with it, because he's starting to think that he's never going to _not_ love Kurt, and the waiting and patience is ultimately going to get him what he wants.

They keep missing each other. Some of it is by accident, because Kurt's two weeks at home between spring semester and camp fall when the schools are still in session in the Bay Area, so Dave has workshops and actual work. Some of it is by design, because Kurt is unexpectedly nervous when Dave mentions a Fourth of July week visit to Boston with a friend from school. It would be easy to switch his off day with another counselor so he could drive down and at least meet Dave for dinner, but he balks and makes up an excuse about the musical, and he hopes that the next time they're geographically close, he won't be too scared to admit that he's never stopped loving Dave. But right now, on the cusp of senior year, it's all too much.


	14. Lightness Has a Call That's Hard to Hear

Kurt had been fairly well exhausted when he pulled up outside of Calhoun, but as he hauls his last box into the suite he'll be sharing with Sara for the year, he's not only exhausted but also hot and sweaty and dusty. What he really wants is an enormous Diet Coke with tons of ice, a shower, and a nap; what he's going to get instead is a mad dash across campus for a meeting with John about his senior project. And when he gets back later, he's _still_ going to have to at least move the boxes off his mattress before he can collapse.

He turns the faucet to cold in the bathroom sink and runs his head under the water, which doesn't help to wake him up at all, but does make his face a little less pink. He scrubs at his hair and finger-combs it, grabs his backpack, and hollers to Sara that he's leaving.

"Have fun!" Her voice is muted, and when he peeks around her open door it looks like she's struggling to move her dresser through a sea of boxes.

"Wait until I get back and I'll help you."

"Yeah, maybe." She slumps against the wall. "You look like crap."

"Thank you. Really, going to be so late. Gotta run."

Her voice trails after him, something about pizza or Chinese for dinner, but he's already moved on to the Next Thing. This whole damn year is going to be about the next thing.

He's got to settle on _something_ for his senior project, and there are grad school applications, if he can even decide what direction he wants to go. There's the Misfits group, his job as John's student assistant and Rush for The Duke's Men, which means copious hours of auditions, dinners, desserts, and meetings that make the worst of the Warblers look like a middle school student council. He had been able to forget all of it when he was up at camp, but the stress has been building since he drove out of the woods a week and a half ago, and he hasn't been sleeping well at all. He knows it will get better once he's settled on some things, and once the two weeks of Rush are over, but none of this is setting a good tone for the rest of the year.

The meeting part of his meeting doesn't go any better, because he seriously has no ideas for his project. He has to produce an original work, and he doesn't have characters or a plot, or even a setting. Finally, John just claps him on his shoulder and tells him not to panic. He has all year. His muse will take care of things.

Kurt isn't so confident.

They spend the rest of the hour talking about nothing before Kurt leaves the air-conditioned comfort of John's office for a walk back through throngs of freshman.

Some days he just feels so old. He barely remembers being that fresh-faced and enthusiastic.

When he gets back to the suite, Sara has moved her dresser. She's also stacked Kurt's boxes neatly in the corner and made his bed for him, so even though he'd rather order in and eat on the sofa in their common room, he takes her arm and wheels her out into the still-warm night to the Thai place up the street. They order Pad Thai and Satay Chicken and the fried rice that Kurt loves, spicy and sweet with curry and pineapple and the hidden crunch of cashews, and he picks up the check.

At 2 am he's got _Rent_ playing softly from his laptop while he unpacks his boxes. He should be trying to sleep, but he can't turn his brain off so he's trying to lose himself in the repetition of _unfold shirt, evaluate, put away_ when his phone lights up.

"Hey, you." He softens his voice because he's really happy to hear from Dave.

"You should be sleeping."

"So should you."

Dave chuckles in his ear before replying. "Too much to do, still."

"You love being an RA, though. You wouldn't trade it for anything."

"You're right. It's just . . ." Dave's sigh is heavy, like he doesn't need to say anything else because he knows Kurt totally gets it, so Kurt grabs the thought and keeps going.

"It's a lot. This year is going to be like that. I had my meeting with John today, about my project?"

"And?"

"And what? I have nothing. No ideas at all. He called me his most talented student. Somehow I think having nothing doesn't quite live up to his expectations." _Or mine_.

"Your stuff is really good, Kurt. And from what you've told me, John isn't a liar."

"He's not."

"So trust him. Has he steered you wrong yet?"

Kurt pauses and thinks, and his wicked, _wicked_ brain seizes onto that poetry class from sophomore year. Dave must be a terrific mind reader, because he's already talking. Scolding is more like it, really. "Don't you _dare_ bring up that Romantic Poetry class, because that wasn't entirely his fault and you know it, Kurt Hummel."

"I could have been nicer. It's just, I mean, she was a grad assistant on top of being a fashion mistake. I kind of couldn't help myself."

"Yes, you could have. You just didn't want to."

"I guess not. But you're right. John has never steered me wrong. He's been . . ."

"He's been your mentor, and you've been lucky to have him. But he can't write your project for you. So trust him." Kurt can hear the _trust me_ that goes unsaid, but he clings to it anyway. He hasn't even shared his writing with his family, so the fact that he sometimes sends Dave snippets of the prose that clutters his mind tells him a lot, about himself _and_ about Dave. And this _thing_ with Dave.

"Yeah. You're right. Have you thought about what you're going to do next year?" Kurt is desperate to move the talk away from himself, and he hopes that Dave is still as undecided as he's been all summer, because then Kurt won't feel so bad about the MFA and MA applications he found piled in his box in the English department that he's just piled up and tucked into one of his desk drawers.

"Not really. I'm not even sure whether I want to stay here or not. I'll do my student teaching in the spring, and I can get my certification in California if I want it. I just don't know if I want it."

"I thought you loved the Bay Area."

"I do. But there are so many other places to see. I mean, think about it. It's almost like being in high school all over again. We can pick where we want to go and what we want to do and just _go_ and _do_ without any repercussions."

"Don't go getting all idealistic on me, Dave."

"I'm not. You're the idealist. I'm just telling it like it is."

Kurt suddenly can't get his voice above a whisper. "I'm not idealistic. Not any more."

Dave's reply is a whisper, too. "I know."

The silence between them is comfortable, and Kurt abandons his boxes for his bed. He lies on his back with his phone tucked between shoulder and ear, and listens to Dave breathe.

"Dave?"

"Yes, Kurt?"

"You can do whatever you want."

"So can you."

"Good night, Dave."

"Go to sleep, Kurt."

Kurt doesn't move. Only after Dave disconnects the call and Kurt's phone goes dead against his ear does he roll over and put the phone on his desk before falling into a deep sleep.

There are a lot of things Dave loves about being an RA: spacious single room with it's own bathroom and a break on his room and board; the camaraderie he's able to form with the kids on his hall; the trust so many of them have in him; and the relative ease of supervising the kids who _choose_ to live on a substance-free floor. He doesn't have to deal with breaking up parties and underage drinking, and for the most part the kids are quiet and studious. But every once in a while there's a crisis.

Middle of the night knocks on his door are the one thing Dave absolutely _hates_ about being an RA.

This knock, at 3 am on a Saturday, can't be good. It begins with Dave running down the hall barefoot, and ends with him crouched in a shower stall in the boy's bathroom, his sweatpants and t-shirt heavy with cold water while he consoles Alex Peabody, one of his sophomores, as he cries. Between the running water and Alex's sobbing, it takes Dave a while to piece the story together, but when he finally realizes that turning the water off would be the best start to a plan ever, he manages to figure it out.

Alex hadn't wanted to spend his summer at home in Michigan, so he pieced together a series of part time jobs in the city that let him afford a sublet with five other guys. At one of his jobs, he kind of predictably met a guy and fell in love, and they had been dating fairly seriously since the middle of July. That wasn't the problem. Earlier that day, a convoluted set of circumstances led Alex to come out to his parents, and it hadn't gone well. At all.

The best Dave can muster through his still-sleepy brain and soaked clothes is "Oh, crap." It's no consolation, and the look on Alex's face tells him so. He's got to get this in gear. He motions to Alex's roommate, who has been lingering on the edges of the shower stall, and the kid comes over.

"Take him back to your room. Get him some dry clothes. Give me five minutes, and I'll meet you there. Okay?" The kid nods, wide-eyed, and Dave helps get Alex on his feet. The three of them pad back up the hall, Alex and Dave leaving drippy footprints behind them on the linoleum floor. Dave waits until Alex and his roommate- _Greg_ , he finally remembers- disappear around the corner before he ducks back into his own room. He leaves his wet clothes in a pile in his shower and slips into sleep pants and his old New Directions t-shirt before going _back_ up the hall to Alex's room.

He thinks about what to say, how to say it, because nothing he's going to be able to do tonight is going to take away the sting of having parents who reject you. He thinks about Kurt, about his own coming out, and how sometimes it wasn't words he needed. So instead of trying to tackle the world's problems on two hours sleep and heightened emotions, he sits on the floor next to Alex's bed and tells him he's proud of him for coming out, and praising him for being brave, and he even tells Alex about showing up at Kurt's house the night he told his dad. He babbles about nothing for a while, too, until Alex falls asleep. Then he wanders back to his own room and falls into bed, but he can't sleep. He knows Kurt hasn't been sleeping a lot lately himself, so he takes a chance and shoots off a text.

 _You up?_

He doesn't even get a message back in reply. Instead, his phone is alive in his hands.

"The sun can't even be up, Dave. What's wrong?"

"Just a coming-out crisis. It'll work itself out, I'm sure, but it got me out of bed in the middle of the night and now I'm too wound up to sleep. What are you doing up?"

"Stupid, stupid statistics homework for the stupid, stupid math requirement I've been putting off."

"Oh."

"And before you ask, I _did_ sleep last night."

"I wasn't going to. Ask, I mean."

"Yes, you were." Kurt's voice is teasing, and Dave likes it.

"I like it when you tease me," he says before he can filter the thought. Kurt falls silent for a moment, and then come words Dave had never expected to hear.

"Come to New Haven for Thanksgiving. Please."

Dave's breath catches in his throat, and he thinks about the ticket his mom has already booked for him to come to Chicago because she finally left Richard the asshole, and he thinks about how much he really wants to see Kurt.

"I want to, but my mom already bought me a ticket to Chicago. God, Kurt. You have no _idea_ how much I want to." His heart is racing, because the invitation to New Haven is, Dave suspects, the closest he'll ever get to hearing Kurt actually admit that he still has feelings for Dave.

"It's okay. I mean, I can't expect to spring something like that on you and have you actually be able to do it." He's disappointed, Dave can hear it in his voice.

"Christmas, maybe? I'll be with my dad in Columbus, and I know it's hard to get down there sometimes, but we could work it out."

"Dad and Carole are taking their honeymoon, finally, and we're all going."

"Oh." Now it's Dave's turn to be disappointed. "Where?"

"Hawaii."

"You're going to have a blast!"

"I know, I just. I _really_ want to see you."

"I guess we're just going to have to keep waiting. I mean, we haven't seen each other in almost three years. What's another couple of months?"

It's a stupid question. Dave knows what another couple of months mean. Another semester of school, and then real world obligations, and the very real chance that one or the both of them will meet someone else, someone who can offer more than late-night phone calls and random postcards, no matter their history. He feels like his entire future is hinging on New Haven at Thanksgiving, and he rapid-cycles through canceling on his mom and changing his ticket. The idea is half-formed when he hears Kurt pull in a deep breath and speak.

"Another couple of months is too long when I want to fucking tell you that I love you."

And there it is. Dave's heart stops, hitches, and starts again, heavy in his chest. The phone isn't the right medium here, but Dave can't help but think that nothing between the two of them has ever happened the way it was supposed to.

" _Oh_. Kurt."

"Stop right there. If you don't feel the same, don't say another word."

"I love you. I've never stopped. I'll find a way to be there for Thanksgiving." Dave laughs low in his throat. "I wish I could get on a plane right now."

"Don't tempt me. But really, it's only three weeks away. Not so bad."

"When you put it in context, I guess not. It's still going to suck, though." Because Dave can't think of anything now but the faded memories of Kurt's body against his, of the contrast of soft hair and warm skin and long, hard muscles. It's going to be the longest three weeks of Dave's life.

He's lost in the thought, drifting on the lightness of the two of then _finally_ being on the same page when he hears Kurt puff out a gentle sigh.

"Go back to sleep, Dave. I have statistics to do. I love you."

The words echo in Dave's ear. He's half asleep already.

"I love you, Kurt. Finish your stats. I'll call you later, after I get my ticket taken care of."

"Good."

Dave waits until Kurt ends the call, and then he tucks his phone under his pillow before he falls into a restless sleep.

Kurt twirls his pencil over and over between his fingers and half-curses his mouth for betraying his heart. He hadn't been ready, hadn't wanted to say anything, but then Dave was teasing and flirty and it felt so right that Kurt just talked.

Now that it was out there, he didn't regret it. He could never really regret much of anything where Dave was concerned, he'd learned that lesson long ago even though he'd tried to convince himself otherwise. No matter, now. His secret is out. He is (and probably always has been) in love with Dave, and now Dave is coming for Thanksgiving. He feels an unexpected flutter in his heart at the thought, and he knows that his statistics problem sets are going to have to wait. Instead, he crosses the room to his desk and boots up his computer. When the process is done, he opens a blank word document, titles it _Senior Project_ and sits down. He lets his eyes focus on the postcard Dave had sent two summers ago, the one of the candlelight vigil. He thinks about the words on the back, about how much of his life, good _and_ bad, has been influenced by Dave Karofsky. He closes his eyes and takes a breath, the way he always does before he sings. This is the same thing, he thinks; he's putting himself out there, and it's scary and vulnerable and freeing all at once. He opens his eyes, rests his hands on his keyboard, and starts to write.

Kurt's hands are shaking against the steering wheel as he navigates the distance between New Haven and the airport just south of Providence on Tuesday after classes. It would have been easier if Dave had been able to fly into Hartford, but it would have made the already pricey ticket change more expensive. So Kurt doesn't mind driving to meet him. It's his favorite time to drive, the edge of dusk, and he's got one of his more random playlists blaring. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he's slightly worried about the whole _you haven't seen Dave in almost three years_ thing, but then he's signaling for the off-ramp, and following the signs to the airport. And there is Dave, leaning against a pillar with a backpack and a small duffel at his feet, looking casual as can be. He looks good, mostly the same but changed, too, and when he settles into the passenger seat next to Kurt, he _feels_ the same.

It's intoxicating and distracting, and not what Kurt was expecting. He has to focus way too hard to navigate the loop of the road around the airport and back on to the highway. Once he's up to speed and has set the cruise control, he lets his right hand drift over the console where Dave's hand is waiting.

The air in the car is electric, and Kurt has so much he wants to say, but none of it feels adequate so he keeps on, driving in silence in the dark and holding the hand of the man he loves.

Dave takes his lead from Kurt. He doesn't know what to say, so he just breathes in the moments until they're off the highway and rolling slowly through empty residential streets. Kurt shoulders Dave's backpack and leads him through a series of doors, down a winding hall, and up a flight of stairs. Down another hall, and then he's turning his key in a lock and they are finally, _finally_ inside. Dave doesn't even let Kurt turn on a light before he's got him turned against the closed door, hands pulling ineffectually at the frustrating number of layers a New England fall seems to require, lips demanding against Kurt's mouth. Dave feels Kurt sigh, hears the gentle thump of his backpack as it drops from Kurt's hand. And to his utter surprise, Kurt is pushing back against him, hands in Dave's hair and mouth hungry and his thigh pressed between Dave's legs.

Well, then.

Dave pulls away from Kurt, away from hungry hands and warm body, and all but growls at him. "Get out of these damned clothes."

Kurt cocks his head in that way he has and smiles out from beneath his eyelashes. "Bedroom's down the hall. Race you there?" He's off before Dave can process his words, so Dave just laughs and loses his shoes before following Kurt past a bathroom and a closed door with _Sara_ spelled out in glittery purple letters. Kurt's room is small, but it's typical Kurt. There are books everywhere, and a stack of printed pages is nested in a plastic box next to Kurt's computer. Kurt has closed the blinds, and the only light is a small lamp in the corner. He's left his coat over the back of his desk chair, and Dave watches for a moment as Kurt sheds his jeans and Oxford. He's not as self-conscious as he'd been at 19, and it seems to Dave like he's at least at home in his body. It's a sexy kind of confidence. Dave makes quick work of his own jeans and hoodie and long-sleeved t-shirt, and then he crosses the small space and lets his hands rest in the small of Kurt's back. There's a gentle kind of intimacy to the gesture that Dave has always found so romantic, and he shivers when Kurt pushes back softly.

He feels like they should talk first, but then he realizes that they've done nothing _but_ talk for the better part of three years, and that maybe, at this point, there's nothing left to say that could change the way this night is about go.

And yet, Kurt is turned and facing him, breath hot against his neck. "If you don't want to, we can wait."

Dave has no words. He just pulls Kurt against him, lets him feel how hard he is beneath his boxer-briefs. "I don't want to wait. God, Kurt. I feel like I've been waiting forever."

"I know."

"Good. Now. Shut. Up."

Dave hears him hiss an intake of breath, and moves to kiss him before he can say anything else. Maybe it's the three weeks of sweet anticipation, or the knowledge that Dave is finally here with this man who he's loved since he was a scared little boy, but the minute his lips touch Kurt's his stomach falls to his feet. The last thought in Dave's muddled brain before Kurt's hands snake under his t-shirt is that tonight is going to be spectacular.

Kurt's body is screaming at him, telling him _hard_ and _fast_ , but he listens to his brain, which is saying _breathe_ and _slow down_ and _it's not a race_. Indeed, it's not a race. But Kurt can't _wait_ to be naked in his bed with Dave. He learned a lot from Toby, and from Eamonn in Dublin, who he fell into bed with two or three times during his semester abroad, so he knows how to be a little aggressive. He kind of likes the way it feels, so he turns Dave and pushes him towards the bed while divesting them both of the rest of their clothes. He couches his nerves under that hint of control, because even though they've had sex before, that was a lifetime ago. It almost feels to Kurt like their first time all over again.

When Kurt finally has them both settled on his bed, he almost cries with relief; Dave is long and lean against him, and it's _perfect_ , and Kurt knows that every silence and all the words written and typed and spoken between them has been worth it. Because they're both ready now.

He lets his hands and mouth explore for him, gentle on Dave's face and down his chest, firm at his waist. He takes it all in, the little spots that make Dave squirm, and the way he presses up into Kurt's hand and how a slide of Kurt's leg makes Dave open more. He takes his time, touching and tasting, until Dave is wide-eyed and begging and ready beneath him. Kurt deftly manages both condom and lube, and he can't believe how easy it is, how Dave just lets him in, relaxes around him. Like he's been waiting for this forever, too. Kurt almost goes weak with the sensation of it, it feels almost _too_ good, and then Dave is pressing their foreheads together, looking into Kurt's eyes as he moves, hard. Kurt wants to close his eyes against the sensation, the emotion, but Dave is whispering what could be nonsense and could be the most brilliant truths, and Kurt is riveted to _that_ moment, to _this_ man. He can't look away, so he just hangs on, and when Dave comes he shouts Kurt's name, and then Kurt is gone, too. He doesn't realize that he's been crying the whole time until he's lying with his head on Dave's chest, and he can feel the spots where his tears fell, warm and damp under his cheek. He's safe, then, under his quilt in Dave's arms, with Dave's hand running from his wrist to his shoulder in soothing patterns. They still haven't said more than a few sentences to each other, but Kurt wonders as he lets one of his hands settle against Dave's hip if they simply don't need words right now.

Dave is a little embarrassed because they're fashionably late for the Orphan's Dinner at John and Thomas'. It was raining when they woke up, and they got distracted in the shower, which meant a trip back to bed. And then another shower. And all of Dave's clothes were wrinkled from spending two days stuffed in his duffle bag, so there had been ironing. But they've made it. Dave stands back and lets Kurt ring the bell, and then waits while Kurt is wrapped in a bear hug.

"Kurt, baby, how _are_ you?"

"I'm good. Great, actually." He steps aside and wraps his arm through Dave's. "Thomas, this is my boyfriend, Dave."

Thomas looks at Dave and holds his gaze for a moment before reaching his hand out. "It's nice to meet you, Dave. I'm glad you were able to be here."

"Thanks for having me, and for being a family for Kurt. I know it's meant a lot to him."

Dave feels Kurt squeeze his arm, and when he turns his head, Kurt is smiling. Thomas ushers them both into the entryway and takes their coats. Kurt takes Dave's hand and leads him through the house. He's comfortable there, like it is indeed a second home. Dave's just along for the ride as he watches Kurt wave at a small cluster of students near the fireplace in the living room, and then they are in a large, well-apportioned kitchen with its own group of students. Dave takes in the trays of hors d'oeuvres and the bar set out on the kitchen table, and the red plastic cups everyone is drinking from. Kurt grabs two cups from the stack on the table, and a Sharpie from next to the ice bucket. He marks a cup and hands it over to Dave, and then marks one for himself.

"Keep your cup for the night. There'll be wine with dinner, if you want it."

Dave shakes his head. "Just soda for me."

When they're set up with drinks, Kurt leads him over to the group where they're perched at the end of the counter, nibbling on cheese and crackers.

"Hey, guys." Kurt's voice has a kind of confidence Dave isn't used to hearing. "This is my boyfriend, Dave. He's here for the weekend from Berkeley. Dave," Kurt turns to him. "These are the other merry misfits of the English Department." There are three girls and two guys. "Lara, Izzy, Ruth, Ryan and Micah." Dave watches as Kurt rests a hand on Micah's shoulder.

"You doing alright, baby? The first year is always the hardest."

The kid, kind of nervous and a little skinny, nods his head. "I'm okay. I had a lot of work to do, so I've been keeping busy."

Kurt huffs out a breath. "Yeah, it was like that for me my first year, too. You have my number, right, if you need anything?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Kurt."

Then they're all talking a mile a minute about somebody who's abroad for fall, and what everyone is planning to take next semester. And then Dave feels Kurt tense as one of the girls ( _Lara_ , Dave thinks), turns to him.

"How's your senior project coming, K?"

"Fine. Just fine."

"What are you writing?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Dave knows how private Kurt is about his writing, which is why this girl's intrusion feels like the worst kind of betrayal. But then he listens closer as she asks about whether it's hard, and whether Kurt wishes he hadn't chosen the writing concentration because then he'd just be able to submit a research project instead, and he realizes that she wants to know about the big, scary process rather than about the product. Kurt is still tense next to him, so he leans over and whispers in his ear. "She doesn't care about _what_ you're doing as much as _that_ you're doing it. She's scared for her own senior project."

Kurt relaxes then, and Dave enjoys listening to him talk freely about working with John, and how the project is supposed to showcase what he's learned as a writer over four years, and that he tries to set aside an hour a day for writing. "Even if half of it turns out to be crap and I erase it the next day," he says with a laugh. "But I'm learning, and I guess that's part of the point."

Ryan looks at Dave then, and starts asking him about Berkeley, and if he has to do a thesis or project or anything. Dave shakes his head, and tells them about his student teaching next semester, and about the anti-bullying project, and what it's like living so close to San Francisco. It's nice, and Dave can see why Kurt felt to at home here his first year.

Kurt has told him about the massive scope of the dinner, but Dave never really believed him until he saw it with his own eyes. Turkey, two kinds of stuffing, two kinds of potatoes, gravy, homemade rolls _and_ cranberry sauce, and oven-roasted vegetables. John toasts Kurt and the two seniors from the history department, and Kurt toasts John and Thomas, and thanks them for opening their home to him and the other "Thanksgiving orphans". Dave knows there's a lot more Kurt would like to say, but the crowd is too big and the setting slightly on the edge of too intimate, so he holds his tongue and takes his seat next to Dave. When the food has been decimated, everyone just sits around the table talking. Dave is popular because he doesn't go to Yale, so he spends time answering all kinds of questions. Thomas sits and watches, and listens, and Dave watches as Kurt slips away to the kitchen to both help with the dishes and steal a few moments with John.

Dave knows how hard this must be for Kurt. He's felt it himself, like the whole year is a year of lasts, and he wishes it didn't have to be this way.

When Kurt emerges from the kitchen twenty minutes later bearing two pie plates, his eyes are clear but Dave can tell he's been crying. He doesn't say anything, though, just waits until Kurt sits down and takes his hand under the table. There will be plenty of time to talk later.

They walk home after the dinner, hand in hand. Kurt lets Dave carry the paper bag of leftovers. They're silent, like they've been so much of the time. It feels comfortable. Kurt doesn't feel like he has to fill the time with unnecessary words. After he lets them into the suite, and after Dave has stacked the leftovers in the fridge in the common room, they change into sweats and t-shirts and spoon together on the couch. Kurt forgot how much he used to crave the simple touch of Dave's hand on his arm, or back, or in his hair. He's letting the motion of Dave's hand lull him towards relaxation when Dave asks him about his project.

"It's those papers in the box on your desk, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Kurt really doesn't want to talk about it. Not yet.

"You're almost done, aren't you."

"Yeah. But it's only a first draft." _It's my heart, and I can't put it out there yet._

"Will you let me read it when it's done?"

"Of course."

They sit in silence, and then Kurt turns in Dave's arms. "Have you decided what you're going to do next year? Grad school or what?"

"I'm going to get my licensure and teach. I figure since I'm undecided, that's the best way to go. Why?"

"Because I need to decide soon, whether I'm going to apply for grad school or not." This is the first time Kurt is having this conversation with anyone but John, and even then he's been less than forthcoming about the jumbled mess of thoughts in his head.

"What are your options?"

"I can go for an MFA in Creative Writing, or an MA in English Literature. Or I can find a job doing something completely different and write."

Dave wraps him tighter, like he knows that Kurt is scared and worried and unsure. "What do _you_ want to do?"

"I don't want more school. I just want to write, but I don't know if I'm good enough."

"Would going to school make you good enough?"

"I don't know."

"What does John think?"

Kurt closes his eyes. "He doesn't know. Any of it."

"You should talk to him about it. But don't make a decision because of me. My teaching certification will be portable. I can go anywhere. And I will, for you."

Kurt doesn't know what to say to that, because it sounds an awful lot like a commitment that Kurt isn't sure he's ready for yet. Even so, he lets Dave's words settle over him and he feels a little less stressed.

Sunday morning, they're up early to get Dave to the airport for his 9 am flight. They're both giddy from little sleep and lots of sex, and Kurt lets Dave flip the radio from station to station as they sing along with easy listening and hip-hop and '80's pop songs as they drive forward in the dark. When they get to the airport, Kurt gets out and helps Dave with his bags. They hug on the sidewalk, and Kurt lets himself relax into Dave's arms.

"I love you," he says through tears when Dave pulls away. "Fly safe. Call me when you get home. And I'll see you at spring break." Before he turns to climb back in the car, he pushes the sleeves up on his sweatshirt. He's pretty sure Dave's forgotten about it, and Kurt's worn it and washed it so much that it's threadbare in places. But Dave drinks him in, and smiles and laughs.

"I'm never getting that back, am I?"

Kurt shakes his head, and smiles with his eyes before climbing into the car and heading for home. When he gets back to Calhoun, things are still quiet. He takes the container with the last slice of pumpkin cheesecake to his room and fires up his laptop. He opens his senior project file and writes while he finishes off the cheesecake. Around noon, he packs his computer up and walks down to his favorite coffee shop for a mocha and writes for the better part of the afternoon. When it starts to get dark, he goes home and writes some more. He's just saving, and printing his work for the day, when Sara gets home. He adds his last pages to the bottom of the stack of papers on his desk and slips the whole thing into a manila envelope that he'll drop off to John in the morning. Then he zips a version, opens his email, and attaches the file. His message is one line: _You're the first person to read this. It's all for you._

Dave is a little groggy by the time he gets back to his dorm after the long flight and a weather delay in Chicago and the added annoyance of the BART. He hasn't been online all weekend, so he turns his computer on and logs in to his email first thing. He has an unread message from each of his parents, and one from Lauren. And there, at the top, is a message from Kurt. The subject line reads _Project_ , and there's an attachment. Dave unzips it, saves it to his desktop, and opens it. There's no title page, just a dedication that makes Dave almost stop breathing. _For my father, for his unconditional love. For John, for believing in me. And for Dave, for my past and my future._

Dave scrolls to the next page. He knows what Kurt is trusting him with here. He doesn't take the responsibility lightly. He doesn't have anything to worry about.

 _Jemmy turned six the day they buried his mother. He never celebrated a birthday after that, and he never cried again either, not even the first time someone called him a queer._

Dave reads through the waning afternoon, taking a break to get dinner and returning to his computer as soon as he finishes his meal. He's mesmerized by this story that would be Kurt's story if he had a different father, if he hadn't come out until adulthood, if he'd spent his life trying to live for everyone else. It's real and raw, and heartbreaking and beautiful, and all Dave can do when he's finished reading is to text Kurt. _I loved every word. It's magnificent. I love you._

Then he crawls into bed and goes to sleep dreaming of Kurt.


	15. The Alphabet of Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I've taken liberties with academia and with publishing. This is Kurt's story, and it's told through someone else's eyes. The boys will be back together in the next chapter.

The English department is still dark when John Andrews gets in on Monday morning. He's usually in a lot later, but he has some papers to finish marking before his 10 am class, and he'd put them off over the holiday. He practically trips over a thick manila envelope as he unlocks his office door, and he stares at it in wonderment. After he turns on lights and computer, and rids himself of coat and briefcase, he settles in and slides a neat stack of printed pages from the envelope to his desk. There's a bright orange post-it on the front, with instructions in Kurt's neat handwriting:

 **John-**

 **Don't judge me. It's a**   
_  
**very**   
_   
**rough first draft, but it's done. Thoughts?**   
**  
**

**-K.H.**

John sticks the post-it on the envelope and starts with the dedication.

 _To my father, for his unconditional love. To John, for believing in me. And for Dave, for my past and my future._

He flips to the first page, and feels like he's being pulled down a rabbit hole.

 _Jemmy turned six the day they buried his mother. He never celebrated a birthday after that, and he never cried again either, not even the first time someone called him a queer. The word wasn't a surprise because Jemmy had always known what he was, but having other people notice it was a problem. Acknowledging it would do nothing but draw attention, and attention would draw his father's wrath, and the honest truth was that nobody really cared enough about an odd motherless boy to look too closely at what went on behind the closed doors of that sad house on the edge of town._

 _In reality, Jemmy kind of liked the light feeling of invisibility that had surrounded him until that moment. It felt like his mother's embrace, and it had kept him safe for the better part of a decade. On the cusp of sixteen, however, it wasn't enough anymore._

"Oh, Kurt." John rubs his hand over his face, lets his eyes drift to the papers he still needs to grade, and thinks that he'd much rather take Kurt's project and spend the day reading it over a cup or three of coffee. In the end, he compromises. He finishes marking the papers, and then wanders down the hall to where his grad assistant Patrick shares a closet-sized office with two others. John waves the folder of marked papers in the air and asks Patrick if he can cover John's 10 am class. "I'll be around for office hours; I just had something come up this morning that I need to spend a little time on."

"Kurt's project. I ran into him this morning. He was up early."

John knows Kurt pretty well, knows the ways he uses his writing and the reasons why, and knows what every word takes from him. "I doubt he slept last night."

"I know you've been waiting for it. I can take office hours too, if you want."

"No. Not this close to the end of the semester. I'll be there, but I think I'm going to go home to read. You have my cell if you need anything."

"John. Really. I'll be fine. Go and enjoy. If it's anything like Kurt's other stuff, you won't be disappointed."

And doesn't John just know that's the truth.

* * *

Patrick wasn't wrong. There are some spots where things lag, and a couple of minor plot threads that wander away from the main theme of the story, but when John tumbles out the other side of Kurt's imagined alternate reality he feels like he's been through a wringer. He can only imagine what Kurt felt like, putting all of that into print. He packs the pages back into his briefcase and gets ready to head back for his office hours, but he sends a text to Kurt first.

 _It's incredible. Few notes. Come by my office, I'll be there until 5._

John meets with two freshmen who are flipping out about mediocre grades in Comp, and a junior who needs his signature for a senior-level spring seminar. And then he waits. At quarter to five, Kurt pokes his head around John's open door.

"Did you flake on your class this morning so you could read my project?" His voice is dancing, but he looks like hell.

"I did."

"Was it worth it?"

John motions with his eyes to one of the empty chairs in front of his desk. "Sit. And yes, it was worth it. Where did it come from?"

"You mean, how did I flip my childhood into that?"

"Yes." John knows that pretty much the only similarities between Kurt and the character of Jemmy are being gay and losing their mothers, but he also knows that Kurt draws a lot of his ideas from his own experiences, so he's admittedly very curious. Kurt just sits for a minute, like he's looking for the right words to explain things.

"It was Dave," he finally says with a sigh. "I got to thinking about where I might be if I hadn't talked with him outside of the library when we were 17, or if he hadn't bullied me. Then it went one step further. What if I'd been able to hide better, or had a father who wasn't so accepting, or never had Finn and Carole in my life? What if I'd been younger when my mom died? Any one of those things alone could have changed my life, but what if all of them were true?"

"So your over-active imagination went crazy."

"Pretty much."

"Did you slay your demon?" John watches as Kurt flops back in his chair and closes his eyes.

"No. Never. There's always more."

"More what?" John is genuinely curious. He knows that Kurt uses his writing like it's some kind of catharsis, and it sometimes hurts him to watch the process.

"More everything. It's like, I sit down and every feeling I've ever experienced gets magnified. Joy, sadness, pride, rage. It's kind of intense."

"I know. So. I think you should go home. Eat dinner. Call Dave. Go to bed early. We have plenty of time to do notes."

"Hot date with your hubby?"

"If you count spaghetti and meatballs and exam prep as a date, then yes. Now, get out."

John caught Kurt's blush when he mentioned talking to Dave, so things on that front must _finally_ be working themselves out. Kurt's back into his coat and that scarf he wears all winter and is halfway out the door when John calls out to him.

"Kurt!"

Kurt turns, mind clearly on to the next item on his agenda. "Yes?"

"It really is good. You've written a wonderful piece."

"Thank you."

John listens until Kurt's footsteps recede down the corridor before getting up and closing his office door. The department secretary was off at 4:30, and the building should be pretty empty. Even so, he wants to make this call in private.

He dials a long-distance number and hopes that someone answers, but he isn't surprised to get voicemail instead.

 _You've reached the voicemail of Erica Butler, in the GLBT division of Kensington Publishing. I'm out of the office or on another call. Please leave a message and I'll return your call as soon as possible._

John takes a breath before the beep, and starts talking. "Ricki, this is Johnny. I have a student I think you might be interested in. I've got his senior project in front of me, and I swear it will blow your mind. So call me when you get a chance. Bye, babe."

He hangs up the phone and hopes that he hasn't crossed Kurt's line of trust. It's not something Kurt gives easily, and John knows that any betrayal would lose him every step of ground he's worked for these last three years. And really, it's not like he expects a response. He's had a few students over the years that he's thought might be what Erica looks for, but none of them have ever panned out.

* * *

The next weeks pass in the craziness of grad school recommendations and exam prep, and then the last frantic push of grading that leads up to winter break. John writes Kurt two letters, one for Iowa and one for NYU. He's not sure if Kurt really wants an MFA program, but he figures they can talk that through in the spring when the letters come.

* * *

Spring break comes too fast for John's liking. In some ways it always signals the midpoint of the semester, but this year it's also an ending for him. Kurt turns his completed project in to John, three copies professionally printed and bound, on the Thursday before break. They both know the writing is quality stuff; John thinks that Kurt will at least receive a Cum Laude designation, but Kurt is nervous. They're lingering in John's office that afternoon, just sort of looking at the three volumes on the edge of John's desk and waiting for the clock to reach an hour that's appropriate for a celebratory cocktail at an off-campus bar when John's phone rings the double ring of an off-campus call. He picks it up before looking at the caller id.

"Professor Anderson."

"Johnny."

"Erica." Holy shit, he'd completely forgotten that he even called her. That was fucking months ago. Her voice sounds tinny, like she's in a box or something.

"I'm sorry, J. I didn't mean to take so long to get back to you. We've had kind of a crazy spring. You have a student. I'm assuming he's still a student."

"Ye-es."

"He writes fiction?"

"Yes."

"Can you send me something of his? Anything? ASAP?"

"Why the rush?"

"I've had two authors miss deadlines, and we're kind of in a jam. I mean, the industry is shit right now. And the submissions on my desk? Also shit. But I know you, Johnny. You know the goods when you see it."

"Hold on one second, Ricki, please." John puts her on hold and rests his head in his hands. Kurt looks at him across the desk in concern.

"Do you need a minute, because I can-" He gestures at the reception area.

"No. That's not it. Please. Stay sitting, because I think this might make you faint."

"What?"

"I have a friend. An old friend. She works for a mid-sized publishing house in New York, in their GLBT division. I called her, back in the fall when you first submitted your project. She's just now calling me back. Do you have anything to send her?"

"Excuse me?"

"It sounds like she's on the prowl for something new. She's never taken my bait before."

"Wait. I'm still back on publishing. And you calling a friend in publishing. For _me_?"

"Yes."

" _But why_?" Kurt looks shell-shocked, and John kind of can't blame him.

"Because you're talented, and you have things worth saying to an audience larger than your boyfriend and me."

"And your friend wants to read my stuff?"

"Yes. What can you send her?"

"Can I send her my project? I mean, is that against the rules? It's kind of my best."

John isn't used to Kurt having such unabashed pride in his writing. "I don't think it's against the rules, but let me make sure first. Isn't there anything else?"

"Nothing that's as good or as polished. But I'm sure I can figure something out."

"Okay."

John resumes the call. "Give me your email." Erica rattles off an absurdly long address, which John scribbles on the back of an old student evaluation. "I've actually got him in my office right now. Give him five minutes and you'll have something in your inbox."

"Great. I can't make any promises."

"Understood. Thanks, Ricki."

"No problem, babe. I'll be in touch." She hangs up before John can say goodbye.

Kurt still looks stunned, but he comes to life when John clears out from behind his desk. He watches as Kurt pulls a flash drive out of his jeans pocket. He plugs it in and works with practiced efficiency. Within a couple of mouse clicks, he's sighing in triumph and pocketing the flash drive again.

"Done and done. I guess now we go and get that drink. And wait."

"You're not mad that I called her?"

Kurt's voice is sure and strong. "No."

"Why not?"

Kurt just shakes his head in rueful silence. "Because very few people believe in me with no reservations the way that you do. You thought enough of me and my work to make the call. Thank you."

John wraps an arm around Kurt's shoulders and pulls him close. "You're worth the belief, kid."

Kurt's voice is low and soft. "I thought I was too old to need to hear that."

John's breath catches in his throat. Kurt is so much a man, and yet there are still so many little boy parts to him. It's sad and remarkable at the same time, and John wonders, not for the first time, if he's been more changed by Kurt than Kurt has been by him.


	16. All That I AmAll That I Ever Was

Kurt's never been drunk, and he doesn't let himself get drunk when he goes out with John after turning his project in. He does, however, get pleasantly buzzed. It's an odd feeling, and he's not sure he likes it, but it dulls his excitement and nerves and the sheer _wanting_ of being less than 24 hours away from seeing Dave for the first time in three and a half months. It also helps him sleep, which is a wonderful gift after what feels like months of restless nights.

He's up early the next morning and on the road to Providence for his two layover trip to San Francisco and Dave. He tries not to think too hard about the short story he emailed to John's publisher friend, or about the grad school acceptances that should be arriving in the next two weeks. Kurt hates being in limbo, just like he hates stress. His life since Thanksgiving has been nothing but both of those things.

It all disappears when he rounds the corner out of the terminal and into baggage claim at SFO to see Dave, hanging back on the edge of the crowd and shifting anxiously from foot to foot, still dressed in his khakis, button down, and tie because he clearly came out to the airport right from work. Kurt beelines for him, drops his messenger bag on the ground and wraps Dave up in his arms. He can feel Dave's adrenaline-fueled jitters melt away, and they just cling to each other in silence for a minute. It's new and familiar at the same time, and Kurt has missed it. The baggage claim is teeming with people, and noisy, and Kurt barely hears Dave's whisper of _let me take you home_ , but it's enough to spur him into action. He leaves his messenger bag with Dave and joins the other people from his flight to wait for his bag, and then Dave escorts him onto the tram and walks him through buying a pass for the BART train that will take them to Berkeley. When they're finally side by side in a plastic train seat, Kurt's suitcase between their legs on the floor and Kurt pulled back against the warmth of Dave's chest, Kurt finds his voice.

"I have news."

"You turned in your project yesterday. How'd it come out?"

"It looks great. But it was after I turned it in. I guess John has a friend who works in publishing."

"And?"

Kurt feels his body relaxing from the combination of Dave and the motion of the train. "She called, and asked if I could send her a sample of my stuff."

"And you did?"

"I did. I haven't heard anything yet, though. How about you?" He rests his hand on Dave's knee. He knows Dave's job search has been a struggle because it's so early still. And it's hard to know what to say because Kurt's still in limbo.

"I really just want to get through the semester. Can we not talk about it right now?"

Dave sounds exhausted, and Kurt wants to know everything, but the train isn't the place. So he just feels the motion of the train and listens to Dave breathe, and he knows with absolute certainty that no plans for next year matter besides being with Dave.

* * *

Dave has had moments of wondering whether Thanksgiving was all a dream, but now he knows he's been nothing but awake for all these months. Being apart was hard, and Dave is kind of surprised at how easy being together comes back to him. It's the simple things that come from being Kurt's friend before they even kissed the first time, from dancing together and writing letters and the endless, endless phone calls. He knows what it means when Kurt's eyes go cold, or when his laugh is nervous rather than clear. He knows how to respond when Kurt leans into him on the train, and exactly the right words to use to reassure Kurt that nobody will care if they hold hands on the walk back to Dave's dorm. Just as he knows that when they're finally inside, when Kurt presses full against Dave and kisses him long and slow, there's going to be talking tonight.

First there's a shower, and Dave has never been so happy to have his own bathroom because it means he can climb in with Kurt and press soft kisses down his wet neck and soapy back, and they can both enjoy the twin luxuries of hot water and busy hands to take some of the edge off of their separation. Then there are soft sleep pants and t-shirts, and Dave orders out for Chinese because Kurt looks (and Dave feels) too wasted to go out. Neither of them say much, which Dave just accepts because there is going to be _so much_ talking later, because he has to tell Kurt about his student teaching, and an odd lead he's following for something that may turn into a job, and he absolutely wants to know more about this publisher, and what it might mean for Kurt.

He most emphatically doesn't want to talk about Iowa or New York.

When they've finished off the chicken lo mein and the pork fried rice, and shared an order of teriyaki beef skewers, Dave takes the trash down to the kitchenette and returns to his room to find Kurt stretched out on the bed. He opens his arms to Dave, who goes into them willingly, and every breath feels like being home.

Kurt's words tickle at the nape of his neck. "It's always been like this, with you. Easy."

Dave nods. "That's because we were friends first. I think that helps."

"Mmmm. Tell me about your student teaching."

It's something they don't always talk about on the phone because, like Kurt's project, it's infinitely complicated. There are the politics, and the endless amounts of paperwork, and the weekly class on Monday nights with the other student teaching candidates that more often than not ends up in a bar with them all sharing horror stories over cheap tap beer. But Dave secretly loves it, and _that's_ what he tells Kurt. He talks about the kids, and the satisfaction of it all, and the odd camaraderie he feels with the other teachers at the 6-12 magnet school he's been placed at. When he's talked about all the easy stuff, he takes a breath. Kurt stills behind him.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Lies, Dave. We promised each other."

"I'm not lying. It really might be nothing."

"But it also might be _something_ , right?"

"Maybe."

"Where?"

Dave sighs, because it's all this fragile pyramid of a teacher who has a friend who knows someone who's a principal at a school that's being redesigned, and Dave doesn't want it to be too real, or to want it too much in case it doesn't happen. "Denver."

"Like Colorado?"

"Exactly like Colorado."

Kurt nudges Dave, and they shift positions so that Dave has Kurt wrapped up now.

"Tell me about it. The school and the job." Kurt doesn't sound put out, just curious, so Dave talks about the research he's done about the school (a revamped 6-12 public school that's going to have a strong arts focus and that needs teachers willing to work in an underserved community), and the city ( _pretty liberal_ , he says, _and over 300 days of sunshine a year_ ). He's even started looking at apartments, and Kurt perks up at that. Dave wakes his laptop up, and pulls it over to the bed so he can show Kurt some pictures of the cute area called Capitol Hill.

"How much of a sure thing is this job?"

"It's like a game of telephone. I mean, I've applied through the district, but I've talked to this woman once, the one who's going to be the principal, and she liked me. I know nothing, though, and probably won't for a while still."

"Okay."

"So talk to me about Iowa and New York."

Kurt reply is strained. "What about them?"

"I thought you didn't want an MFA?"

"I don't think I do, but I wanted to have my bases covered. You know, in case my project was crap or whatever."

"And now? With the publisher?" Dave knows he's pushing, but he can feel Kurt biting back what he _really_ wants, and the fact that Kurt does it as easy as breathing kills Dave.

"Now . . . I don't want to want it too much, you know?"

"I do." And Dave does. That's how he feels about Denver, like it's nothing he ever thought he wanted but now it's the _only_ thing he wants, and he can't even blink to see a different future. "I think you should, though. Want it. I know you do."

"I do. More than I want another piece of paper with another degree."

"So go after it. And even if it doesn't happen with _this_ publisher doesn't mean it couldn't happen with a different one. Fight for it, Kurt."

"If the job in Denver doesn't come through, where do you want to go?"

"Will you laugh at me if I tell you I think I want to move there anyway?"

"And do what?"

"Work. This job isn't the only one out there, it's just the only one I have a personal lead on. And if I can't get a full-time job, I can always substitute."

"You always have been a man with a plan."

Dave shivers as Kurt runs a finger lightly up the length of his arm. "Like you're not."

"Yeah. Well. So. Denver, huh?"

"What do you think?"

"As long as there's somewhere for me to work and somewhere for me to write, anywhere you are will be home."

They've always talked around the commitment part of their relationship, and Dave is a little surprised to hear Kurt give in so easily. Dave has spent so much of the winter preparing himself to follow Kurt that he never really expected Kurt to be the one following him. The thought kind of leaves him breathless. He squeezes Kurt's hand. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. If I really decide that I want an MFA I can defer for a year, or reapply in the fall to other places."

And that's when Dave finally understands that Kurt only applied to those programs because it was expected of him. "You really just want to write." Dave doesn't make it a question. He already knows the answer before Kurt nods against his chest.

"I do. So let's do that. Go to Denver, together, and make a future."

"Good. Now, no more talking about any of this for the rest of break. _Please_." Dave lets his voice drift into wanting as he pulls Kurt closer and lets a hand toy with the hem of his t-shirt.

"Don't worry." Kurt's chuckle is warm with affection as he turns in Dave's arms. "I have plenty of other plans for tonight."

* * *

Kurt had lots of things he wanted to do, but they don't really make it out of bed on Saturday. Or Sunday. Kurt can't help but laugh about it, because it seems so cliché, but it's been months, and neither of them have been taking care of themselves, so he figures that a weekend of lazy sex and lots of sleep might be exactly what he and Dave need.

* * *

When they finally do emerge from Dave's room on Monday morning, it's into a whirlwind of activity. Dave's spent four years avoiding the big tourist things because he's been saving them to share with Kurt. So they take in Fisherman's Wharf and Alcatraz, and Fort Point and Golden Gate Park. Dave also takes Kurt to the little places loves, the hidden coffee shop he stumbled into in the Haight one weekend that has the most decadent pastries, the bookstore in the Castro, the tiny movie theater that shows double features of black and white classics paired with edgy indie films.

On Friday night they go dancing, to the club Dave likes that plays '80's dance remixes. It makes them both think of that underage club, the one that got them through senior year, and Dave realizes as they're wrapped together on the dance floor that they haven't actually been dancing together as a couple. That makes Dave feel free, allows him to let his hands and body be slightly less than decent, and he's not surprised when Kurt responds in kind. He's also not surprised when Kurt presses against him, and keeps pressing against him until they're in a slightly darkened corner of the floor and Kurt's mouth is hot against the sweat-cooled skin of Dave's neck and Dave can't think of anything but getting the both of them back to his room. Instead, he bursts through the haze of need and pulls himself away from the dip of Kurt's mouth and the sway of his hips and drags them both back onto the dance floor. He's feeling light and loose and more than a little spectacularly gay because he's showing off his boyfriend for all those Friday night boys he never followed home, and sue him but he wants to dance some more. He snakes an arm around Kurt's waist and pulls him close so they can grind together, and laughs in Kurt's ear when he hears Kurt's disappointed words before they get caught in the music. _I would have made it worth your while._

Dave lowers his tone, so Kurt has no choice but to hear his reply. "Just what kind of a girl do you think I am, Hummel?"

And then it's Kurt's turn to laugh.

* * *

They're drunk on each other when they stumble back to Dave's room well past 2 am, and Dave starts the shower up right away because they're both hot and sweaty and a little street-grimy. They're rough with each other in the shower, because everything Kurt started on the dance floor had to hold through two walks, a cable car, and the BART, but it feels so good to demand and be met, and to give right back. Besides, Kurt knows there'll be time for gentleness later.

It's their last night together, and they don't sleep. They have snippets of conversation in between memorizing each other, and as they make their sleepy way to the BART and SFO in the morning, Kurt can't help but think the first rain since his arrival is fitting. He tries not to cling too hard when he has to leave Dave at the security screening, but they've done this before and this time will be the last time.

Kurt stares out the window for most of the flight, the feeling of Dave's hands and mouth and body seared into his brain. When he lands in Providence it's late and dark; he snags his luggage and buys a large iced coffee with obscene amounts of cream and sugar from the Dunkin' Donuts in the baggage claim before making his way to the parking lot. He texts Dave that he's landed and on his way back to New Haven, and then cranks his window down and his music up for the drive.

The roads are pretty empty; Carrie Underwood and Faith Hill on the country station he can't seem to lose even after he crosses the state line end up being good company, and it's just shy of midnight when Kurt parks the Navigator in the Calhoun parking lot. The building looks pretty empty, though there are a few faint lights in scattered windows. Kurt's own suite is dark and empty; Sara won't be back until Sunday evening. He leaves his bag in the common room and takes a fast shower before booting up his computer and settling into his bed to email first Dave and then his dad that he's gotten home okay. And then he scrolls through the messages that have accumulated in his Yale inbox over the past week. Nothing much, a few automated reminders about the lottery for extra graduation tickets and nominations for graduation speakers, and some silly things from the guys in the Duke's Men who went to party locales for break. And there, the newest one with a timestamp of barely an hour ago, from Erica Butler at Kensington Publishing.

 _  
**Kurt-**   
_

_  
**I loved your story, and I spoke with John the other day and he sent me a copy of your novella. He said you're out of town, but I need you to get in touch with me when you return from your trip. I can't make any firm promises, but I'd love to work with you a little further.**   
_

_  
**-Erica**   
_

No. Fucking. Way.

He calls Dave, who's clearly been sleeping, and reads him the email. They dissect every word, and Kurt promises to call him the next day after he talks with this Erica Butler. Kurt falls silent then, not wanting to say goodbye or give in to the sleep that's threatening to pull him under, but Dave's voice is smooth in his ear.

"Fight for it, K. You can do it. Now, go to sleep."

Kurt hangs up first, something he doesn't usually do, and plugs his computer back in on his desk before crawling into bed. He sleeps with the light on, and with his email still open, just to make sure when he wakes up that the whole thing isn't a crazy dream.


	17. Lie With Me and Just Forget the World

Dave jumps headlong into his job search once break is over. He'd love to work at the school that started this whole thing, but he isn't sure that's going to happen. So he trolls job sites for Denver and the two large public school districts adjacent to it, as well as every private school he can find, and applies for every secondary math teacher opening he sees. He also applies for sub pools, because he's seen at his own school that sometimes a sub is in the right place at the right time and lucks into an opening mid-year. He does all he can, and when he can't do anymore he just waits.

Dave fucking hates waiting.

He hates the way his spring is turning into nothing but waiting . . . for a job, to find out whether Ms. Fancy-Pants Publisher Lady is going to come through for his boy (especially after he had to go down to New York _twice_ to meet with her), to graduate. To move on and start a life with Kurt.

Surprisingly, the waiting makes the spring pass pretty fast.

Dave tries and tries to make a trip to Kurt's graduation work, even though they've already decided that the logistics and obscene expense of cross-country graduations five days apart is absolutely insane. Instead, he watches the live stream from his dorm room, and texts Kurt in congratulations the instant his name is called. His phone rings minutes later, and Dave can hear voices and clapping in the background.

"I got Summa!" Kurt is almost yelling in his ear.

"Your project? John told you and I told you. Congratulations, baby."

"I didn't believe it until I read it in the program."

"I'm so proud of you. So proud." Dave is a little lost in the thrill of it, murmuring endearments into the phone. He knows how hard these four years have been for Kurt; they've talked about it, open and honest and _no lies_ , at great length. Dave knows now that there were times Kurt felt so apart and alone, times when he almost didn't push through, and he thinks as he listens to celebrations large and small that Kurt deserves this bright and shining moment of brilliant success. It's been a long time coming to him.

* * *

Burt never thought he would ever be as proud of Kurt as he had been watching him grow up strong and proud and defiant, bucking against the confines of life in Lima. But when he hears his boy's name called, hears the announcer recognize Kurt's project or thesis or whatever as Summa Cum Laude, Burt thinks he might burst. There is scattered applause, and Burt shouts over the crowd like he did at that long-ago Friday night football game. _That's my boy_. It's different, now. _They_ are different, now.

It's been a long road, watching Kurt get here. It's hurt Burt, more than he would ever tell anyone, because unlike high school Burt hasn't been able to help Kurt with this part of growing up; instead, he's had to sit back and let Kurt navigate Dave and the other boys and school and everything by himself. Kurt has always been resilient, and Burt's always known that Kurt would use every ounce of bounce-back to turn his life into something incredible. Burt's a little unsure of this whole publishing thing; hell, he's never even read a word of Kurt's writing. He's especially unsure about the whole moving to Denver with Dave thing, because granted that Dave has made Kurt incredibly happy at times, but he's also made Kurt heart-breakingly miserable. But all of it, the writing and the maybe someday book thing, and _Dave_ , is making Kurt happy. So Burt figures he just needs to roll with it.

They all go out after the ceremony, Burt and Carole, Kurt and his friend Sara, and Sara's parents, and Kurt's advisor John and his . . . husband. Thomas, Burt's pretty sure. They seem like nice people, all of them, and Burt's glad that Kurt has had Sara as a constant in his life. The food is good and plentiful, and Burt raises his beer in toast to the kids, who collapse in child-like giggles from a combination of exhaustion and excitement. Sara's father smiles at Burt across the table, and Burt thinks that maybe he's another dad who's working on watching his baby grow up, too. They linger over coffee long after dessert plates have been scraped clean, until Kurt clears his throat and pulls a small wrapped package out from under his chair. He looks nervous, and Burt catches Kurt's glance over to John, and John's imperceptible nod of approval.

"I've been writing since freshman year. The only people who've seen my stuff are John and my boyfriend. It's time for my family to see it, too." He hands the package over to Burt, who hands it to Carole. She undoes the paper carefully, and runs her hands over the thick blue paper on the cover.

 **Nothing and Everything After**

 **by**

 **Kurt Hummel**

 **Creative Writing Concentration, Class of 2016**

 **Advisor: J. Andrews**

"Your project." Carole sighs up at Kurt, flipping to the first page. Burt peers over his shoulder and reads the dedication, and then takes in Kurt's firm writing, which covers the bottom half of the page in blue ink.

 _Dad and Carole-_

 _Thank you for everything. For loving me, and accepting me, and teaching me to be brave and strong and happy. And for teaching me how love. I'm so very lucky to have you both as my parents._

 _I'm incredibly proud of this piece. It was hard to write, sometimes, and I don't doubt that there are parts that will be hard for you to read. But it's the culmination of everything I've learned about art and words and most importantly myself, over these past years._

 _Your unconditional love and support mean more than I can ever have the words to express._

 _Love,_

 _Kurt_

Burt knows it's going to be good; after all, that publishing lady is interested in it, and it got Kurt highest honors. He resists the urge to turn the page, and keep turning pages, until he's drunk in this most important thing Kurt has ever created, but that will have to wait. The waitress is getting antsy, and there's still packing to do after all.

When they've settled the check and wandered, amoeba-like, into the parking lot, Burt steers Carole back towards the car so that Kurt can say his goodbyes to John and Thomas in private. He watches the three of them, talking and hugging, and Thomas ruffling Kurt's hair like Burt used to back when Kurt was in high school, and he's struck by the sudden realization that these men have been like fathers to Kurt in addition to being his teachers. He crosses the pavement to the trio in five long strides, and pulls up next to Kurt. He looks first John and then Thomas square in the eyes.

"Thank you for taking care of my boy. For opening your home to him, and-" Burt's voice breaks, betrays him, but John steps closer.

"Thank you for letting us borrow him. He's remarkable, you know, and a real credit to you."

"I know. Not everyone sees him, though." That might be the hardest thing for Burt; _he_ knows how special Kurt is, but most people can't see beyond _gay_ to get closer.

John's voice is confident then, when he looks back at Burt. "They will."

* * *

Dave's mother comes out to Berkeley for his graduation. She leaves the girls with Richard because they still have school, and Dave is a little grateful to have her all to himself. It means that he can show her his city, and they can have some time together before he heads off to start the next part of his life.

He kind of wishes his father were there, but they don't know each other any more, and sometimes it hurts too much to deal with all the silence between them. Dave isn't even going to Columbus after graduation; Kurt managed to score them an admittedly miniscule one-bedroom apartment a few blocks from the heart of downtown Denver. It's nothing fancy, but they can afford it. Dave's mom and Kurt's parents chipped in and paid the first, last, and security deposit as a joint graduation gift, and they get their keys June 1st. Dave's got a job lined up, teaching at a summer enrichment program. Kurt hasn't found work yet, but Dave knows it's only a matter of time. He always lands on his feet, that boy.

Graduation day is typical Bay Area, a little cool until the haze burns off. Dave's hot in his black gown, and the stupid tassel on his silly hat keeps brushing against his cheek and it makes his skin crawl. There are speeches, endless numbers of them, and it seems to take forever to get to his name; he supposes he's lucky that he's only a K. It would really suck to have to sit through three hours of name-calling to get to the Z's. But they do call his name, and he crosses the stage and takes his empty diploma case and starts walking back to his seat. He isn't even three feet from the stage when he can hear his phone ringing in his pocket. He can't get to it because the stupid gown is in his way, so he has to wait until he's back at his seat. One missed call from Kurt, no voicemail. But he has three texts.

 _Congratulations, baby! I'm so proud of you._

 _Sorry you couldn't get to your phone. I just wanted to tell you I love you._

 _Call me later, I have good news._

Dave's far enough back on the field that he dials Kurt back, but all he gets is voicemail. He ends the call and sends his own text.

 _Dude. This sucks. You're it._

Seconds later, his phone is buzzing.

 _Patience. I'll talk with you after the ceremony._

Damn. Now Dave's more anxious than he had been before this whole thing started, and he wants to bolt. But he thinks of the way Kurt would press his leg against Dave's to calm him, or squeeze his hand, and he lets his breathing relax. He can sit here and wait, and he'll call Kurt as soon as he's out of this damn gown and dumb hat.

Except that he doesn't have to.

When he emerges from the field house, looking for his mom, something draws his gaze over to one of the benches that ring the athletic complex. Kurt, rumpled and sleepy-eyed and the best damn thing Dave has ever seen.

He's got Kurt in his arms before he realizes it. "We promised we wouldn't-"

Kurt mumbles against Dave's shoulder. "I know. But I got home Monday night and I couldn't sleep because I wanted to see you. So I drove."

"For three days?"

"Three and a half. I've only been here since the middle of the F's."

"Okay." Dave rubs at his face. "You know you're crazy, right?"

"Probably."

"So your good news?"

"Yes. My good news. Later. This is your day. I don't want to make your day about me."

"What if _I_ want to make my day about you?"

"Later. I need some sleep before I fall over."

"My mom and I were going to go out, kind of spend the afternoon together. If you want, you can sleep in my room, and then meet us for dinner?"

"Good. That would be good." Kurt nods into the area behind Dave, who turns and sees his mom, smiling at the both of them. She hugs Dave, first, tightly, and whispers how proud she is of him. Then she folds Kurt into her arms, and thought Dave tries not to listen too hard, he hears her say _thank you for coming back to David_ before she releases him. Dave knows she isn't talking just about graduation.

Dave keeps waiting for Kurt's good news, through the afternoon with his mother, and the three of them eating Thai food, and he and Kurt walking hand-in-hand back to Dave's dorm after dropping his mom at her hotel. He waits for it through a shower, and sleepy, tender sex. It isn't until he's got Kurt wrapped, boneless, in his arms when he hears Kurt's disbelieving whisper.

"I was in Utah when she called."

"Who?"

"Ms. Butler. They want it."

"Your book?"

"Yes."

Kurt seems a little detached from everything, like he still can't fathom that _this_ is happening to _him_ , so Dave just holds him tighter and strokes his hair until he falls asleep.

* * *

The house is quiet. Burt's gotten used to it, since the boys left. Finn's pretty much in Columbus full time anymore; he's still got a semester of school left, and a summer class to finish so he'll be able to do his student teaching in the fall. Burt was hoping to have a little more time with Kurt before Denver, but he got some kind of a wild hare about driving out to San Francisco for Dave's graduation. Burt fought him tooth and nail, but Carole just put her hand on his arm and told him _let go_.

So he did.

That doesn't mean that he isn't secretly worried, that he doesn't carry a nagging ache in his chest for the better part of the week at the garage. Kurt calls every time he stops to rest, from outside of Chicago and halfway through Nebraska, and Wyoming and Utah and Nevada. The last call comes Friday morning, and Burt can hear voices and clapping and cheering in the background, and he knows that Kurt is there, safe. Dave will take care of him now, Burt has to trust that or he won't ever be okay with any of this.

"I'm here, Dad." Kurt's voice sounds shaky, like he's too tired and too caffeinated. But there's something else there, something unsure and a little proud and so very young.

"What's up, kiddo?"

"They're going to publish it."

The project. "Your project?"

"Yes. With some of my short stories, in a collection or something."

"Oh, Kurt." Burt still hasn't read it. Carole put it on the coffee table when they got home from New Haven, and it's been sitting there waiting, waiting for something important. Waiting for now. "I'm so proud of you, K. Do you know that?"

It sounds from faint sniffles like Kurt is crying. "I know."

"Good." There's so much Burt wants to say, so much he wants Kurt to know, but he thinks maybe they're both okay with letting it all be unsaid, because they both know it all already. That's just the way it is with them. Burt sighs into the phone. "Go see your boyfriend graduate. Give him my best. And Kurt?"

"Yeah, Dad?"

"I love you."

"Love you too, Dad."

Burt carries that call with him through the rest of the day at work, through picking up Chinese for dinner and into the quiet of the life he and Carole have created for themselves. They eat, lazy, on the couch. When they're done, and the leftovers squirreled away in the fridge, when they both have a beer, Burt waves his hand at Kurt's project.

"They're going to publish it," he says, out of nowhere.

"I guess we should read it, then." Carole has always known how to handle the Hummel men.

"We should."

"Do you want me to read it aloud?"

Burt nods, because he's nervous and excited and his brain is holding every coherent thought hostage.

Carole picks it up and opens it, past the dedication and Kurt's note to them, to the first page. Burt's crying silently before she finishes the first sentence, but he can't stop listening.

They end up taking turns reading, because it's beautiful and scary and so real that Burt can see every detail, and it's so much what their lives _could_ have been like. He had _no freaking idea_ that Kurt could do this, spin words into pictures and squeeze your heart to breaking. It leaves Burt a little breathless, knowing that about his son.

Carole's voice drifts into the half-dark living room as she works her way down the last page. She pauses at the end of a paragraph and sighs before picking up again.

 _Morning in the city is Jemmy's favorite time, those brief moments when the sky is still pink-tinged night and the day is nothing but possibility. It's freedom, and love, and learning to trust, and it's his gift to himself._

 _Jemmy warms his hands on his coffee mug, lets his breath fog against the cold glass of the window. He can hear Douglas stirring in the bedroom. The sun will be up in mere breaths of time, and the silence will be gone._

 _Until tomorrow. Always tomorrow._

Carole sets the volume back on the coffee table and leans against Burt.

"He's really very good." Carole finally manages to gather her thoughts. Burt just nods. When he speaks, finally, into the dark of the night, his throat is full.

"Read it again."


	18. Say Good Morning to the NightEpilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is the final installment of this verse. I hope you all enjoy it. Due to popular demand, I will be writing Kurt's project, but I'm not sure where to post it since it won't be fanfic in the truest sense of the word. If any of you have thoughts on that matter, please PM me. Thank you all so much for taking the time to read and comment.

It takes them the better part of June to get the apartment unpacked. Dave's job sends him home hot and frustrated and tired every night, and Kurt practically walks into a job at one of the Starbucks' on the 16th Street Mall their second day in Denver, so he's working full time _and_ working on editing his stories. They make a promise to each unpack a box a night, and deal with all the important things first. Which is how they end up in the living room the night before Pride with their last two remaining boxes. Kurt's sorting through an envelope of old family pictures, and Dave has dispensed with his box of books from his childhood, so he reaches in to help Kurt out. What he pulls out of the bottom of the box is a tissue-wrapped package that is torn in places and looking kind of ratty around the edges.

"What the hell is this?" Dave feels like it's familiar in some way that he can't place.

"It's that gift, from Rachel. You know, the ones she gave everyone at Quinn's party before we all left for college."

"You never opened it."

Kurt shakes his head. "No."

"Why not?"

"She said to wait, to open it when we were feeling alone and missing our family."

"And that didn't encompass your entire first semester?"

"It did. I just . . . I kept putting it off, because I thought that no matter how bad I felt on any given day, there was a chance that the next day would be worse. And then things got better, and I kind of forgot about it."

Dave can't help it; he laughs because it's typical Kurt, and a little sad and sweet at the same time. "And you've carried it around from place to place for four years?"

"Yeah. It seems a little strange, but I guess I should open it now, huh?"

Dave nods, but holds up a hand. "Wait. I'll be right back."

He stands, and goes over to the coat closet (okay, so "coat closet" might be generous; it's really turned into their catch-all storage box), and rummages in his plastic tub of things that don't really have a place to live yet. His own package is in slightly better shape than Kurt's, but not by much. It's battered, but still wrapped. He carries it back to the living room and sits on the carpet next to Kurt.

"I never opened mine either. Mostly because I never felt like a part of the family, but also because I never wanted to admit that I was feeling pretty shitty so much of the time."

"Well. Aren't we a pair."

"Yeah." Dave lets his head drop to Kurt's shoulder. "On three?"

"Yeah."

They count together, and then tear into the tissue. The first thing that drops out is a cd with a typically Rachel-inspired paper insert with a plethora of gold stars. Dave flips his over, and reads the track list. It's all of their live performances, from the first invitational all the way through Nationals. The second item is soft, and when Dave unfolds it he realizes it's a t-shirt. It looks official, like the ones Dave has still from hockey and football, but this one says "Property of McKinley High School Glee Club". Dave just chuckles and refolds his shirt, but Kurt is full-on laughing next to him. Dave looks up and sees that Kurt has turned his shirt around. Red block letters stand out against the pale gray of the shirt; Dave lifts his back up and laughs harder than Kurt. While Kurt's shirt says "Original Misfit," Dave's says "Misfit in Training."

"She did right with these." Kurt's laughter is dying down. He folds his shirt and cd, and sets them aside to finish up with his pictures.

Dave goes into the kitchen for some water, and then returns to the couch. He runs his fingers over the cd case, and thinks about booting up the computer to play it. When he opens it, a folded piece of paper flutters out.

 _Dave-_

 _I'm glad you took a chance with Kurt. You both deserve happiness, and you're good for each other._

 _-Rachel_

He shakes his head. Even at 18, other people could see what he and Kurt were too stubborn and stupid to notice for themselves.

* * *

Kurt has never been to Pride before, and while he's a little jealous that Dave has been to three (and in San Francisco, no less), he's glad that they get to spend their first one in Denver together. He leans into Dave despite the heat, and they ogle hot men in the crowd and listen to the people around them greeting friends like long-lost relatives. Kurt wishes they had friends, but they are still so new to the city that they don't really know anybody except their respective co-workers; Dave's are mostly older, straight, and married, and Kurt's are mostly teenagers. Not prime friend potential. And Kurt's pretty sure that none of them would have been interested in spending their Sunday at the parade.

After the Dykes on Bikes and PFLAG, floats from bars and clubs, and groups from churches and schools, the crowds start heading down to the festival, so Kurt grabs Dave's hand and lets them be carried along to the chaos. There are booths and food and music, and strangers wishing everyone a happy Pride. Kurt watches other men watching him and Dave, and it feels like that night when they went dancing in San Francisco.

Kurt leans closer and speaks above the pulsing of hidden music. "We should go dancing tonight."

Dave pulls him into a slightly inappropriate kiss and growls back at him. "I had other ideas for tonight."

When they stumble home later, sun-worn and high on the energy of the day, there is still a lot of afternoon left. Kurt lets Dave pull him to the bedroom and he gives in to Dave's hands and mouth, the gentle push of their bodies together. They linger in bed after, limbs tangled in the pale light of early evening. When Dave drifts off to sleep, Kurt pulls on boxers and a t-shirt and goes out to the living room. He grabs a Diet Coke from the fridge while his computer boots up, and then he opens a new Word document. He should be finishing up the last of his revisions for his manuscript, but there's so much he wants to say that he has to get it all out of his head first.

It comes on him like that, sometimes, to the point where if he's at work and it's slow he'll scribble fragments with his Sharpie on the back of receipt tape or napkins. When he first started writing, it was overwhelming. But now he knows how to deal with it, which makes it easier. Never convenient, but easier.

* * *

Kurt goes every afternoon after work to write at the independent coffee shop around the corner from the apartment. He likes the music, and the baristas are all friendly, and there are a few other people there most days, all of them toiling away over laptops, their tables covered with paper.

He sends his final manuscript off to Erica the first week of August, and then he just has to wait.

Waiting is the rule of the game, these days. He's waiting to hear from Erica, Dave is waiting to hear about a handful of jobs that he's already been on interviews for. They're both waiting for the city to cool down, because it's been hitting 100˚ or more for the better part of a week and they only have a window air conditioner in the living room.

On the third Wednesday of the month, Kurt's at the coffee shop, mostly to escape Dave who's moping around the apartment. He's three chapters in to the piece he started on Pride day, and he thinks it's going pretty well. It's not as serious as his project was; he's not sure Erica is going to like it, but it's a fun release after all the drama of the past year. He's on a roll, dialogue pouring out of his fingers, when his phone bleats out the Snow Patrol song that Dave loves so much.

"Hey, you."

"K." Dave's voice sounds faint.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. I got a job!"

"Seriously?" Talk about cutting things close. The school year is set to start on Monday, and Dave had finally accepted that he'd likely be subbing all year. "Where?"

"At a middle school in North Denver."

"Honey, that's great! Congratulations!"

"Thanks. Let's go out tonight. Dinner and dancing? I want to celebrate."

"Deal. I'll be home in a little while."

Kurt finishes his dialogue sequence and saves his work before powering down his laptop. He busses his table in the meantime, and he's packing up his scraps of paper when his phone rings again. He answers before it can annoy the other writers.

"Hello?"

"Kurt." Erica's voice is sharp, like always.

"Erica. What's the news?" He's learned with Erica that it's best to cut to the chase.

"Good. The news is good." Her voice lightens. "Are you sure you're only 22?"

Kurt laughs at this. "Totally. Why?"

"Congratulations, kid. We're looking at a March release date."

Kurt drops back into his chair. "Wow."

"You're speechless, aren't you?"

"Kind of. Yes."

"Well. I'll let you get on with things. I just wanted to tell you. There are some small details to work out, an author photo and bio and all that, but I'll give you a call next week and we can figure it all out. Are you still breathing?"

Kurt huffs faintly into the phone. "Barely."

Erica's usually pretty brusque with him, but her voice softens. "You've done good, kid. Take that man of yours and do something to celebrate. And then start thinking about your next book."

Her words echo in his head even after he ends the call. _Your next book_. He's going to be a published author, and Erica wants more. From him. Janie, the regular weekday barista, comes over and asks gently if he's all right.

"I just got a call from my publisher. March. My book is coming out in March."

Janie bounces on her feet, claps her hands, and raises her voice so that the three others tapping away at their keyboards can hear her. "Hey, guys! Kurt's book is coming out in March!"

The other writers are largely strangers; Kurt really only knows them by their tables and coffee orders, because they're all usually so engrossed in their work. But today they all leave their solitude and gather around him, offering congratulations and smiles. The young woman not much older than he is who always sits in the back and drinks iced coffee light and sweet holds him tightly in a hug.

"That's awesome, baby. Your victory is all of ours."

Kurt feels kind of badly that these strangers heard his good news before Dave did, but he also feels like a part of a community by being able to share his triumph with other writers. He thanks them for their kindnesses, and begs off their offer of another iced mocha (apparently they all pay attention to coffee orders as well) by saying _sorry_ and _I can't_ and _my boyfriend got a job today, so we're going out to celebrate._

He walks home through the terrible heat with a faint grin on his lips. Take that, Lima.

* * *

Dave eats lunch in his classroom every day instead of the teacher's room.

In the beginning, it was because he was nervous and the smell of scorched coffee turned his stomach, but he quickly realized that the only way to stay out of the politics was to stay out of the teacher's room. The first couple of weeks, he ate alone with a book for company, but one day they'd had no leftovers at home so he'd had to buy his lunch. On his way back to his room with a slightly questionable egg salad sandwich, he passed one of his 7th graders tucked into an alcove between the restrooms around the corner from the cafeteria. The girl was absorbed in a thick novel, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich half-forgotten in her hand. Dave invited her to join him in his room, and told her that she was always welcome because he liked to read with his lunch, too, and before he knows what's happened it's November and he regularly has half a dozen kids or more, from all three grades, scattered among the desks. Some of them even linger in his room after school, on the afternoons when he stays late to give help to the kids who need it. His readers never need it, they just seem to be putting off going home for whatever reason, so Dave starts staying late every afternoon. Kurt likes to write until at least 5 pm anyway, and it's just as easy for Dave to grade and write lesson plans in the quiet of his classroom as it is in his living room.

He brings in a small bookshelf after Thanksgiving break, and sets it up in the back corner of his room. He fills it with young adult books from his own collection, the ones that were so important to him growing up. The Giver and Holes and the Lord of the Rings trilogy. When he explains it all to Kurt, about the quiet kids and the seeming sanctuary of his classroom, Kurt pores through his own library and sends Dave off to school with more books. When Dave is shelving them, he notices that a handful of books have gay or lesbian characters. In the bottom of the bag is a sticker, one Dave has never seen before. It's a white circle with a pink triangle and green lettering that says "GLBT Safe Space". Dave doesn't even think; he peels the back off the sticker and slaps it on the side of the bookcase that faces out into the classroom.

He thinks nobody even notices until he and Kurt are milling around outside of the school auditorium waiting for the holiday concert to begin. He's got several students in the band, and more in the chorus, and he wants to be there to support them. They're sharing a can of Sprite when Hannah, the 7th grader who started the whole lunchtime book club, approaches with two men.

"Mr. K?"

"Hannah. How are you?"

She blushes, softly, and Dave remembers what it felt like seeing his teachers outside of the classroom.

"I'm good." Her voice is quiet, shy. "I just wanted to, um. Thank you?"

"For what?"

"For that sticker. The one on the bookcase? I'm not. I mean. I'm not gay, but my dads are." She waves her hand at the men, _her dads_ , and smiles. "Sometimes the other kids tease me for it. But they never do in your room."

Dave's a little speechless, but Kurt jostles him and he snaps out of it. "You're welcome, sweetie. You'll always have a safe place in my room, okay?"

She nods her head in the moment before the lights flicker, signaling that it's time to get seated, and she scampers off with her dads following close behind.

Dave feels Kurt's hand wrap around his own and squeeze. He squeezes back. He doesn't need words to know that Kurt is proud of him.

* * *

They don't have plans for Valentine's Day, at least not plans that will take them out of the apartment. Dave stays late at school so he doesn't have to bring any work home, and Kurt stops by the store after work so that he can cook them a nice dinner. When he gets home, he stops to check the mail even though he's juggling his messenger bag and two re-useable King Soopers bags because he doesn't feel like coming back down three flights once he's put the groceries away. He fumbles with his mailbox key because his hands are cold, and when he finally gets the little silver door open he's confronted by the flurry of weekly food ads crumpled on top of a large padded envelope.

From Kensington.

His book.

He sits on the stairs, bag and groceries scattered around him, before tearing into the package and pulling out a bundle of blue tissue. There's a card on the front, so Kurt reads that first.

 _  
**Kurt-**   
_

_  
**Here it is. I think it looks fabulous.**   
_

_  
**You've done good, kid. Really good. Enjoy it.**   
_

_  
**-Erica**   
_

Kurt tucks the card into his bag and unwraps the tissue. The purple-y blue cover with a silvery pencil sketch of a city skyline looks better than Kurt had expected. After a lot of haggling, Erica agreed to keep the title he had originally given to his project, but she made him add _Stories_ as a subtitle even though there are really only three stories in addition to the novella. But no matter.

He's holding his baby in his hands.

He flips to the dedication, enjoying the feel of crisp, fresh pages between his fingers. There it is, in black and white. At the time, it seemed like the most important part of the whole thing.

 _For my family: birth, marriage, brotherhood, and love. Always and forever, we're all each other has._

Kurt closes his eyes and drinks in the moment. Then he gathers his things and climbs the stairs. He has an inscription to write and a book to wrap.

* * *

 **Epilogue: Six Years Later**

Dave hates to do it, but he rushes the kids out of his room as soon as the bell rings at the end of the day. He's managing coat and briefcase stuffed full of homework he knows isn't going to get graded tonight and trying to lock his door when one of his misfits runs up.

"Mr. K, you're not staying tonight."

Dave glances at his watch, thinking about the drive and the struggle of tearing Abby away from the Teddy Grahams at day care, and the dress he wants her to wear, and parking downtown. He sighs, and turns to face Missy Lewis and her pink-streaked blonde pixie haircut.

"I can't tonight, Miss. Places to go, and if one domino falls . . .." He waves his hand in the air as he shrugs into his coat.

"Gotcha. Well. Have fun. Will you stay tomorrow?"

"I have a sub tomorrow. But I'll be staying on Monday, okay?"

"Great. See ya, Mr. K."

The fates are with him that afternoon. The drive across town is relatively clear, and when he barges into the daycare he can see Abby, sneakers on, munching on her Teddy Grahams from a plastic baggie. Her lunchbox is already in her cubby, so he grabs her coat and backpack and steps into the room. She runs toward him, skinny arms out and brown pigtails bouncing.

"Papa!"

Dave sweeps her into his arms, taking in glitter and marker and a smear of blueberry yogurt on her cheek. "Did you have a good day, lovey?"

"Yes. Share." She holds a Teddy Graham to his mouth, and he chomps it carefully from between her tiny fingers. He sets her on the floor and helps her into her coat and backpack, and he smiles at her teacher, Randi.

"Thanks, Randi. For the sneakers and the snack."

Randi nods at him from the little round table. "Kurt said you'd be in a hurry. Hot date tonight?"

"Something like that. We'll see you Monday; we're having a home day tomorrow."

"Ah. Well, then, have a good one. Bye, Abby."

"Bye, Randi."

Dave buckles his daughter into her toddler seat, hands over the sippy cup of milk from her lunchbox, and turns his iPod to the Broadway mix she likes; she is Kurt's daughter, too, after all.

She dozes off as they sit in traffic, which is really okay because they're going to be out past her bedtime tonight. When they get home, Abby stands on a stool next to him while he cooks dinner and chatters sometimes incoherently about her day. Sometimes Dave wishes that someone taught Toddler as a foreign language.

Leftover grilled chicken, broccoli, and the mac and cheese they keep in the freezer for those nights when they forget to thaw anything for dinner, and a cup of sparkling apple juice for them both, because it's a special night. Then he parks Abby in front of Sesame Street for the ten minutes it takes him to trade khakis and Oxford for dress pants, shirt, and tie. Then he turns Big Bird off and ushers Abby into her bedroom, where he waffles between the dress he picked and the one that Kurt likes. He decides on Kurt's favorite, pairing the green velvet with a pair of white tights and black Mary Janes. Dave undoes Abby's pigtails and brushes her hair before putting it _back_ into pigtails. Kurt keeps telling him that her hair will get thicker someday, but Dave thinks it's going to be wispy baby hair forever.

Then it's back into coats and car for the brief drive to the bookstore. Abby is just excited. Dave is full of nerves.

* * *

Dave knows the way Kurt gets at a reading. It's like performance for him, and he tunes everything out except the cadence of the words off his tongue. Dave loves to listen to Kurt read, whether it's picture books to Abby at bedtime or passages from books they've shared over the years as they lay in bed every night. Dave is always amazed at the way Kurt makes even reading to a crowd of 20 people feel like an intimate experience.

Tonight he sits in the back row, Abby in his lap. She leans back against him and listens in rapture, even though she doesn't understand the content; Dave thinks she'd even listen to Kurt read a cereal box. Burt and Carole are nervous next to him; they're the surprise Dave has been biting back for a week, and the reason they're having a home day tomorrow. They've never heard Kurt read, because even a "hometown boy makes good" story isn't enough to soften Lima where Kurt Hummel is concerned; he's told too many secrets in the bound pages of his books, and it turns out that collective memory is longer than either Dave or Kurt had imagined.

The reading is a good one; the book is quality stuff, a nice mix of the seriousness of the first book and the romantic fluff of the second. The first book was important for so many reasons, and Dave will always love it because it was for him, but he honestly thinks this one is his favorite. The audience seems to like it, too, and Dave is pleased to see that many of the people in the line have all three of the books in their hands to be signed. He holds back, not wanting to distract Kurt, but he forgot about the Abby Factor, otherwise known as the ability of a two year old to go after exactly what she wants. She tears out of Dave's grip and runs through the crowd to Kurt's side shrieking "Daaaaaddddyyyyyyy!"

Kurt doesn't miss a beat. He holds his arms out and sweeps her into his lap, holding her against his chest with his left arm while he keeps signing with his right hand. When he pauses between people, he looks up at Dave, smiles, and mouths _thank you_. Note to self: good call on the dress.

Then Kurt spies his parents next to Dave, and his face is open and his eyes are glistening. He puts his hand over his heart and smiles and nods at the three of them. There will be time for hugs and praise, and even tears, later.

Dave doesn't wonder, anymore, how he got here. How _they_ got here. He just lives it, and loves it every day.


End file.
